


Blue Suits

by marras



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Depression, Developing Relationship, Eventual Romance, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mentions of Cancer, Modern Fantasy, Multilingual Character, Not A Twilight AU, Open Ending, POV Alternating, POV First Person, Past Child Abuse, Sexual Content, Vampire Marco, background relationships: reibert- aruani - yumikuri, but I did suffer through the movie to make references now then, exploring the affects of abuse and depression in life, exploring the meaning of immortality, mentions of other illnesses, one character's death is open to interpretation, recovery from mental illness, set in Northern Europe, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-02-09 14:18:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 31
Words: 203,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1986174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marras/pseuds/marras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco Bott was a vampire. That Jean was sure of after finding himself saved by the  man with cold hands and inhuman strength. He just needed to prove it, if not for others, then for the sake of his own sanity. </p><p>But how are you supposed to prove that someone is a vampire when all there seems to be to him are good deeds and endless smiles? Furthermore, what do you do when you accidentally end up befriending the said vampire?<br/>And most importantly, what about when that perfect scheme starts to crack and you find the countless teardrops hidden behind his smile?</p><p>An AU full of forbidden friendships, secrets, hidden tears and feelings that are harder to express than one would wish them to be. Oh, and mysterious blonde women who insist on killing you inside your dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Cold hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please make sure to read through the tags before reading this fic, as this fic includes some possibly triggering scenes.** It may start nice and innocent, but it will get darker later on. A bit like life: innocence of childhood will be destroyed as you grow up and you tend to get a little unhappy. That sort of thing.
> 
> All non-english lines are translated in the chapter's end notes.
> 
> Playlists:  
> [My own writing mix for this fic.](http://8tracks.com/salangaani/salty-caramels-scarred-skins)  
> [A very cool playlist by cherrybodt](http://8tracks.com/cherrybodt/fools)  
> br>  
> I hope that you enjoy this. Just know it's ~400 pages so maybe don't start reading this late at night just before a deadline?

There are probably thousands of better ways to start a story than this. But it's my story so I will start it _my_ way. So, to put it rather lamely: this is the story of how I managed to fall in love with one, very special and freckled vampire with a big dick.  
  
Okay, please pretend that I didn't say that.  
  
Sure, it's not a lie since he is rather well hung on the downstairs. But it's probably not where I should be starting with this story, since this is not a fun story nor a porn. Furthermore… I think he'd kill me if he knew that I said that. Or, well, not _kill_ me but fuck me over the kitchen counter or something as romantic as that.  
  
I was serious when I said that this is not a porn. Sure, we fuck and make love and what not. But that's not where we start, even though that would be nice- his bed skills truly would deserve a novella of their own. The reality just doesn't work like that - we don't start off our stories in the middle of perfect pornography and healthy relationships. We need back story to build up to. Of course there's something to be discussed in whether these mainstream books and movie rules really have any place in real life. I actually kind of do hope that they don't. Because according to those both me and Marco lack a few things that make bestsellers. Beating hearts included.  
  
I keep on talking of where our story _didn't_ start whereas I probably should tell you where it started. Well, it was a peculiar Friday evening five years in the past. I had turned twenty a few weeks before that day that undeniably turned my life around. I got into trouble - like a deep piss kind of trouble. Prince Charming entered the scene to sweep me off my feet and, as you probably guessed, some time later bloomed our romance. The pretty basic storyline. Could have done with a few more explosion scenes and at least one car chase but a bloke can't get it all in his life, can he now?  
  
But you know, I'm glad it went down like this. Even all the pain and hard times. Because without all that I wouldn't be here like this. Marco wouldn't be by my side. And I should be shutting up with all this unnecessary talking because his dick is asking for attention that it fully deserves.  
  
So lets start at the beginning.

***

5 years earlier  
25 th of April  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
Do you ever have those days that just start wrong? Those days where everything starts rolling downhill at an increasing speed the second you wake up? Because for me today was definitely one of those mornings. It started off with small things: waking up with the wrong foot, running out of coffee and hitting my toes seemingly into every single corner that passed and hitting my head on our hideous kitchen lamp. The lamp that I'm talking of was a low hung, heavy set monster straight from the 40's - memento from Grandma's estate. The one mum so desperately wanted for reasons that I could never truly understand because the lamp was simply repulsive and popped lamps more often than not. Which is why I didn't really feel any remorse as mum told me to treat 'important, memorial things' with more respect.  
  
I sat down on the barstool on the opposite side of the kitchen island than her and took the porridge plate she offered me into my hands. I used to hate it with passion as a child but twenty years of forced feeding had slowly made me fall in some kind of twisted love with rye porridge. A morning without it felt pretty much as empty as a morning without a good cup of coffee. Thanks for that one, mum. It has made my overnight stays at friends' pretty awkward in the past a time or two.  
  
We started our breakfast in silence as per usual, with her reading the morning paper and me blowing into my mug of shitty and overly bitter instant coffee until it cooled enough to be drinkable. It was calm and peaceful in that tiny kitchen - hell, in that tiny house that we had. It was only me and mum living there in the end so we didn't need much space to start with and have saved the little we had here and there. The lack of a kitchen table was a good example of that - we just didn't need it, not when we barely ever had visitors and the two of us fit well enough around the island counter with its barstool even with one or two visitors. It was a tranquil kind of silence that never lasted long in this household. This time the end for it came with the rustle of the newspaper in mother's hands as she folded it up before giving me a look I knew way too well.  
  
"So, Jean", she started awkwardly, her voice still lowset from sleep. "You know what day is coming closer?"  
"As if I would forget", I grumbled with a shrug as the instant never really woke up me up like real coffee. It had more of a habit of lulling me back into the tired fuzziness I experienced each morning as I woke up. Mother on the other hand was full awake, her cup of that sharp smelling instant shit almost completely drank by this point.  
"I do guess that it is. Have you made sure that your schedule for the day is empty?" she asked casually, giving me the desire to hit my head to the table top. Seriously mum? Give your kid some respect now and then.  
"Yes, I have", I muttered at her. "The trio's leaving for seafaring school next week and Connie and Sasha are busy with their tournaments. It's not like I'd really have anyone to make plans with anyways."  
"Oh, so they got in", mum chirped up. "I'm surprised that Armin made it, he's rather weak, that boy."  
"Wow mum", I mumbled with a quirk of my eyebrows. "That's rather rude to say, you know? But yeah, they got in. I think that Armin's more interested in the whole technical side of the ships so they don't really care about his physique. Not when he has a brain like that and when he knows how to use it. So if they gave him even a minute or a two to talk I'm sure that he can manage to convince a few old farts to let him join the school."  
"You are right. He's a very intelligent boy, unlike someone else I know", mum chuckled and gave me a small wink.  
"I'm just going to pretend that you meant Jäger with that comment for the sake of our mother-son relationship. But yeah, my schedule is cleared. What is this about? The flowers that we will be getting?"  
"That exactly", mum nodded. "I want to place a custom arrangement order this year, too. That's where we get to my point - do you think you'd have time to stop by Mark's shop today to order it?"  
  
In all honesty, if it had only been about time I could have immediately replied with a 'yes'. But because the weather had been way too hot for my liking for over a week now it turned into more of a question of whether I had the energy and motivation to do it.  After mulling it over for a few beats I knew that I needed to answer positively - in the end, it was not any simple request that I could just shrug off without feeling bad about it afterwards.  
"Yeah, I can do it today", I ended up replying and downing the rest of my coffee. "Are we going to pick it up on the 6th or the day itself?"  
"Ask Mark what works best for the shop?" mum offered with a shrug.  
"I'm pretty sure Mark doesn't mind because it's us and his brother that we are talking about. He'd probably do the whole arrangement in ten minutes if it came down to that." After all, that's what uncles are there for - to help you in the time of need, right?  
"It's still nice to be polite, Jean."  
"I know, I know", I sighed, leaning to reach towards the colourful post-it notes and the pencil attached to them in the further corner of the table. I continued my speech once I had fished the utensils to my hands. "So, what kind of flowers are we going to order this year?"  
"I was thinking of letting you choose this year."  
  
Excuse me?  
"But mum, it's for dad's grave?" I slowly dragged out, staring at her with disbelief. She had to have gone mad after the last time I checked.  
"Yes, son. He is your father. You know what he liked", mum answered with a calm voice and posture that suggested her to think that her request had been completely natural.  
"You were his wife", I pointed out but she just shrugged.  
"We were both his family. I'm sure that he will love whichever flowers you pick up for him", she said with a somewhat tender smile. "Just promise me one thing Jean - take off your earrings when we visit the grave."  
"What's the point in lying to the dead?" I sulked, shielding my ears just in case mum had planned on attacking me if I refused.  
"Jean." Her voice sounded rather disappointed. "Imagine what he'd say if he saw you now."  
  
The image of a light haired man with several piercings and a mohawk in my head smiled at me as I thought about it.  
"Probably something along the lines of 'I'm proud of you kicking on son. If you dig your piercings lemme buy you some new earrings'. If you had forgotten by now, he was a punk."  
"Okay", mother breathed out in defeat. "You have a point but… just wear anything else than those satanic ones, please."  
"Excuse me",  I breathed out, rather piqued by her accusation. "Pentagrams weren't originally used as the mark of Satan. They have been used to protect oneself from Satan and -"  
"I know. You forced me to watch that TV series with you and begged me to let you paint that demons trap under your carpet. The point is that the old ladies visiting someone's grave won't know it and I don't want you upsetting them, young man."  
  
I couldn't have cared less about some old ladies in their flowery dresses sniffing after long dead husbands thinking badly of me but I knew that saying that out loud would never get me out of the conversation. Mother was a rather great supporter of 'respect your elders' ideology as long as it came to simple things like clothing and greetings so she wouldn't be on my side on this. Even more I wanted to wear just whichever earrings I wanted to when I visited dad. In the end, he was my father and I wanted to pay my respect to him just as I was. Mother kept her steady gaze on me for a while, waiting for a reply but sighed as she realised that I wasn't going to give her one.  
"Hard headed as always, dear. Not that I would ever have taken you to be any less. Well, wash your plate when you're finished, I'm leaving for work."  
"Yea yea. I will", I agreed even though I was quite sure that both of us knew that there was no way I'd bother to do it before evening. That's just how it went - I'd procrastinate on small, useless jobs until right before she'd come back home.  
"Good", mum hummed and ran her fingers through my messy hair. "See you in the evening. Please pick up coffee from the shop if you have the time."  
"Seeing that I'm still on this 'holiday' time is pretty much all that I have got."  
"Then I await new coffee on the shelf when I return."  
With that she walked out the door, her heels clicking against the dark laminate floor.  
  
I sighed as I ran my hand through the hair that she had messed up. I was definitely in the need of a good, long shower. Well, seeing how my morning had been I shouldn't have been surprised to find out that the warm water had ran out by the time that I finally managed to crawl into that shower. After a few good hours of groggy comic reading in my bed. Well, whatever the reason for my lateness and the lack of warm water the situation still ended up with me having one hell of a cold shower. I barely managed to finish it without freezing my balls off but it was a desperately close call on that because my shampoo didn't really wash off with cold water. That had left me swearing under the cold rain for what felt like five full minutes to srucb the substance off my mane. Well, I managed somehow and soon found myself jogging up the stairs with a towel wrapped around my hips to my tiny but blessedly private bedroom. It was the only room upstairs next to the small toilet that I had so I was lucky enough to have the whole floor for myself. Well, less of a lucky person the days our neighbours decided that it was time for banging since the walls were, how to say this, rather poorly soundproofed. But with the two years that I had lived in that house I had learned to fight against the voices with loud music and loudly played amateur porn - the latter one only when my mother wasn't home, of course. But I swear that there are only a few things that suck more than waking up from peaceful sleep only to find out that the voice that woke you up was a rather impudent and dragged out moan. And it had happened more times than I dared nor even wanted to count. So just fuck you and your overactive libido, dear L. Ackerman. I checked the nametag of the door next to ours even though I had never even seen the person living there. For future reference, that is. I was going to make sure that the next time I moved I wouldn't have any Ackermans as my neighbours.  
  
After checking the weather - a blazing +28 degrees which was definitely way, way too much for an April day like this - I decided to go down with a light grey top and my cargo shorts. It would have been inhumane of anyone to expect me to dress any nicer in weather like that so everyone was welcome to kiss goodbye their expectations for fan service on my fabulous arse. Come on, there's no denying that it is _fabulous_. Maybe on the flatter side but in the fabulous way. This one I'm ready to fight about. So yeah, I was wearing a rather comfortable outfit as I strolled down the stairs, feeling the dog tags on my chest clanking together. I dropped them under my shirt, the shape comfortable against my skin. After all, I had worn them all the time since I got them with dad when his cancer got diagnosed. So a three years? Three years of wearing the same necklace from day to day was a rather convenient way to make it grow into a part of 'you', I guess.  
  
The set of keys on the other hand still felt wrong in my pockets. The keys to this house were bigger than the ones we used to have for my whole childhood and life up until he passed and I was aware of how these ones didn't really fit my pockets that comfortably as I dropped them in. I decided to leave my wallet behind since there shouldn't be much need for money when all I was going to do was to order those flowers that we would pay for later on. So I just stuffed a fiver into my pocket next to those too big keys before exiting the house to the calm streets.  
  
The walk to Mark's Flowers wasn't that long, maybe a good fifteen to twenty minutes? So I travelled down the sun beaten streets that annoyingly kept getting fuller and fuller by each block I got closer to the centre. Honestly I didn't get what was going on with these people and their sun loving? It never opened up to me what was it that felt so good about getting your skin sweated up the second you walked outside but I clearly was missing something based on the masses. Whether or not so, I was thankful for the cooled down air hitting my skin as I stepped inside the shop accompanied with the little tell tale chink of the bells hanging atop the door. The shop's well controlled air humidity felt more and more comfortable with each step that I took deeper into my uncle's flower shop.  
"Mark", I called out as I saw the familiar figure of the man with long, ash brown hair in a loose braid at the back of his neck. The aproned figure turned around with flowers in his hands and flashed a warm smile that drew lines to the corners of his blue eyes.  
"Jeanbo!" he greeted back before carefully setting the flowers down and wiping his hands at the front of his apron. "How's it going?" he asked as he closed the distance between us to hug me.  
"Ugh, Mark, no one has called me that since I was like five", I sighed dramatically before smirking at him. He pulled back from the hug and answered my smirk with a similar one. I guess I really did get my expressions from dad's side.  
"I'm doing fine tho, thanks. How about you?"  
"Been rolling on as per usual", Mark replied. "It's been kind of hot so I have been busy watering the garden more often than not. You still on that holiday?"  
"Yeap, on that exactly."  
"Well, it surely has its perks to be young, doesn't it", Mark hummed and swiped an escaped lock of hair back of his ear, dismissing the topic we both knew we should talk of before it could even arise. I was rather thankful for that, really. I didn't feel like talking much.  
"I don't know about being young being that nice", I shrugged at him. "It's hard to get a job and old ladies will always disrespect you without any other reason than you being young. It irks me a bit."  
"You have always been the one with fire inside, haven't you", Mark laughed with a shake of his head. "But I guess that you are right. I always got off the hook pretty easily even though I had long hair because your dad was what he was so everybody was too busy scolding him to see me. But I guess you didn't come here just to talk to me, as sad as that is. So how can I help you today, Jean?"  
  
I was pretty much as sure as anyone at this point that he just asked it out of politeness instead of saying 'so, the flowers for the grave, right?' because he knew all well what day was creeping closer.  
"Mum sent me to order the arrangement for dad's grave", I simply stated as an answer, earning a nod from Mark.  
"Naturally", he breathed out. "It's nearing the date. Do you want one of the same size as the years before?"  
"I guess so." I had no fucking clue to be honest but hey? I don't remember that we would have had any problems with arrangements we had had the years before so why not.  
"Alright then. What flowers would you like to have it made out of?" he asked me, studying my face with the slight lines of his forehead deepening in concentration. It baffled me a little because it wasn't exactly something I had seen him do much before.  
"That's the hard part: mum told me to choose and I don't know shit about flowers", I said and smiled meekly at him. "Which you already knew, didn't you?" I continued, rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment. I didn't usually feel stupid for not knowing the names of the greenery surrounding me but there's something different in the moment when a full fledged flower shop owning botanist is studying your every movement as you say it. It almost feels like a test that you just know that you will flunk desperately no matter how hard you try because you never even knew there was a test to start with. No, more of you were never aware that you even needed to attend the class that the test was for. That kind of a feeling.  
"Did I know that you know nothing of flowers? Yes, pretty much so. You generally lack knowledge about plants and what you have is basically based on what your grandmother taught you about trees and bushes in her garden. So don't worry, I won't ask you to know anything by name but I'd still like to know if you have any idea for this thing."  
"Do you happen to have like, I don't know, pictures of any flowers that could be used for things like that?" I asked, trying to hide my abashment behind the one fact I knew for sure. "Because I know that you can't use all the flowers all over the year or anything."  
"Of course I do", Mark smiled. "Most of my customers aren't familiar with flowers so I'd be doomed if I didn't have one. I have pictures of arrangements that I have done for graves in the past but you don't have to choose between any of those - just point out flowers that you like and I will tell you if I can work around them. Not to mention that I can replace flowers with similar looking ones in a lot of the cases."  
"Thank you, that'd be great."  
"Good, follow me."  
  
Mark walked me next to the table that he had been working on when I arrived and pulled out two white folders from under it, one with black text 'funerals' and one with 'weddings' written onto it. Mark gave me them both, saying that 'flowers are flowers' and I could tell easily that the funeral one had been used more: compared to the wedding one it was dustless and it's surface gleamed a little from all the oils it had absorbed during the years it had been in use. I guess it was one of those things that never really got to rest due to its nature. I set the folders down on the table in front of me, leafing through them as Mark served another customer who wanted a bouquet for her sister's birthday. The flowers and arrangements in the plastic covered pages were all pretty for sure but there was only one single flower that felt right I looked at it: a rose with almost black petals. So as Mark turned his attention back to me I pointed at it.  
"That", he said after leaning closer to have a look at what I pointed at. "It's a black beauty rose. You like it?"  
"It's kind of punk. Like dad." There never was that 'was' there on my sentence. I still hated the sound of it. Mark hummed silently.  
"I can see it. It's actually mostly used as a wedding flower which might come as a surprise. But it doesn't matter, traditions are just traditions and your father never followed those anyways so it'd be a fitting flower for him. Are there any other flowers that you would like to have in the arrangement?"  
"Not really", I admitted. "I just don't know how this works. Only thing that I can think of is some kind of small light coloured flowers? Maybe? Dude, I suck at this."  
"That doesn't sound bad at all, Jean", Mark assured me and took the folder into his hands, flipping through a few pages before turning it back to me. His finger was pointing at a picture of small, white and rather lacey looking flowers. "What about these?"  
"Those look good", I agreed. "And you are a professional so I trust you."  
"And you are the son", he replied, giving me that same worried glanced as before as he faced my one sided smile. "So your thoughts are what really matter."  
"Well, if you won't hate me for saying this I'd like to leave the rest of the planning into the hands of the _brother_ that knows what he's doing", I laughed. Sure, he meant well as did mother but I just… didn't feel like it really was my place to be doing this alone.  
"I won't say no. When do you want to pick this up?" he asked and fished a small notebook out of his apron pocket.  
"Does 6th or 7th work better for you?"  
"Let me see… 6th is Wednesday, so naturally 7th is a fine Thursday. I would say that 7th works better since I'm on shift in the morning. You are getting it in the morning, right?" Good question, really.  
"I guess so. I mean, we usually leave for the grave at nine so we would be here a few minutes afterwards?" Mark nodded and wrote it down to the notebook-calender-what ever it really was.  
"That works perfectly. I will mark you up just in case I'll have to be away and someone else has to give it to you. Have you still kept your silly surname?"  
"Last time I checked we shared our surname, Mark."  
"Good good, we can't mix your order with anyone else's, then", he said and winked at me. "Since we are the only three Kirsteins in the town."  
"Maybe you should get married to add into the Kirstein population, Mark."  
"Maybe you should do it yourself, Jean."  
"I'm pretty sure I'll be living my life alone till I'm old and grey because I'm not exactly a people person. You, on the other hand, are rather popular, aren't you?" I asked, looking around the flower shop a little. "And even if not, at least you have money on your side."  
"Mending an old building as you keep a flower shop in it is not exactly cheap. I'm not that rich at all."  
"Definitely richer than me and mum, still".  
"Well", Mark shrugged. "If it's extra money that you need why don't you come work for me sometimes? You may know shit about flowers but cleaning the windows and floors has nothing to do with and furthermore you'd learn to know the flowers with time. Think about it - to quote your own words, it's hard to get work when you are young."  
"I'll have to consider it", I smiled. "But after summer, as you know."  
"Ah, yeah, I do understand. You don't get along with the heat."  
"Never have."  
"That I knew, too", he smiled and reached over to ruffle at my hair. I swear that my hair was some kind of a ruffle magnet. "But you should probably be off to enjoy your days of freedom instead of talking to a lone old man in a flower shop."  
"38 isn't old."  
"Soon 39. Less than two years and I am 40 and that's pretty much ancient", Mark sighed but smiled. "Or do you need something more?"  
"No no, all is fine", I replied. "I will be off then - enjoy the day and thanks for everything, again."  
"No problem, Jeanbo", he said and waved his hand as I opened the door and stepped back into the beating heat.  
  
I didn't feel like dealing with the afternoon sun trying to burn off my skin so I rang up Sasha and invited myself over to her place. She literally lived at the building right by the flower shop so it was a rather good escape plan. Sasha didn't have much to say over the phone next to telling me to bring ice cream with me if I wanted to invade her home so I complied. There was a small, overprized corner kiosk on the other side of the street so I made my way into it and its small ice cream section. I pondered between a few different flavours before picking up a packet of the Tiger ice cream since I knew Sasha loved it - sure, I liked it myself, too, but I wasn't that obsessed over the simple combination of vanilla ice cream and orange dressing as she was. I was rather the mint chocolate type of guy.  
  
I paid the ice cream to the sweet, pig tailed girl called Mina who used to go to the same middle school with me. She smiled sweetly at me and told me that she was there to work through the summer and I kindly nodded back at her before she turned to give her attention to the next customer and started looking for the kind of tobacco that the man had asked for from the small shelf over her head.  
  
I jogged across the street and slipped into the cool staircase of the light pink coloured apartment complex and climbed up the stairs to the second floor. I wasn't entirely surprised when the one to open the door was Connie - they had been basically living  together for one and a half years now anyways - just slightly, because I didn't expect him to wake up before later in the afternoon.  
"Sash in the shower", he yawned as a hello. There, that was the explanation, then.  
"SASHA!" I shouted towards their bathroom door after the front door was safely closed behind my back. "WE ARE GOING TO EAT THE ICE CREAM NOW!"  
"YOU ARE SO NOT!" she screamed back and mere ten seconds later she stormed out of the bathroom clad in her towel, her dribbling wet hair and body leaving a thin trail of water after her steps. I obediently dropped the ice cream into her outstretched hand and she continued her water dripping journey to the kitchen holding the packet like it was something holy. I kicked off my shoes and followed Connie to the pair's rather spacey living room. Lucky bastards, all this space just for the two of them. It was all quite luxurious for two students but Sasha's family had money.  
"So how's it going, man?" I asked Connie who was slowly heaving side to side by my side, his thin hands crossed across his bony chest.  
"Tiredly", he answered with the next yawn, looking at me sheepishly. "Been playing a lot."  
"Not surprised", I laughed. "Did you beat Jäger yet?"  
"What do you think", Connie groaned. "You two crazy Germans are impossible to beat."  
"He's the German one. I'm French. Half", I corrected. Connie just yawned again with the utter look of boredom on his face.  
"Yeah yeah, French-German, what ever, don't be that white guy."  
"I don't even have German blood in me, I'm half local if you don't happen to remember."  
  
Connie just poked my side.  
"Well, French or not, you need some more french fries in you man. You are skinny as fuck."  
"More like skinnier than fuck", Sasha sing sang and walked to us carrying three bowls of neatly cut ice creams. What a nice pair of friends I had managed to get myself. Such wow. Much dedication.  
"Fuck you, too."  
"No thank you", Sasha laughed and winked at me as she gave me one of the bowls. "Asexual and all that shizz, you remember, Mr Local? More importantly though, how do you feel about a Sherlock marathon?"  
Well, I'd say that we were talking business now.  
"Which season?" I asked, catching a spoonful of the ice cream. The fresh combo of vanilla and orange was rather pleasant in my dry mouth.  
"I was thinking of the second one?" Sasha offered, tilting her head to the side. I nodded at her, satisfied with her choice.  
"Hey hey now monsters, that'd mean seeing the Reichenbach fall!" Connie shrieked, suddenly more awake as he pointed his finger from Sasha to me.  
"Exactly?" I questioned, feeling the smirk pulling at the corners of my lips. "What, are you too scared of crying in front of us, Conny?"  
"First of all: never call me that again. Secondly: I don't care if I cry. I just don't understand your masochistic tendencies", the little man puffed out accompanied with a shake of his head.  
"  
It's not masochistic", Sasha informed as she sat down to the sofa and patted the space next to her. "We are just enjoying art."  
"By crying your eyes out? However you want", Connie grumbled, but still joined us on the couch after setting up the DVD player.  
  
We settled into silence that turned into a good five hours with the actors' delicious accents filling our ears and one fight between Connie and Sasha about what language they should use for the subtitles or whether they needed subtitles at all. There were more snack breaks than probably healthy as we ate all that ice cream next to some popcorn, sandwiches and juice. Probably something else too, but I must have forgotten. It's always easy to forget how much one eats around Sasha because her stomach is just bottomless. I like her a lot, like a lot a lot, but she's a really expensive friend to have. It was a blessing that her parents were rich - I was afraid to even imagine how Sasha would have survived on a normal student budget like the rest of the people her age. I'm pretty sure it'd have ended with murders over pieces of leftover cafeteria bread. Sasha was rather furious with an empty stomach, you see.  
  
As I was still supposed to buy that coffee before my mother would come home I decided that it was my time to leave after we were finished with the last episode, seeing that the time had somehow managed to creep past 20. The two waited for me to pull on my shoes in the hallway, Connie already setting up a gaming night with his internet friends from all over the globe. His typing speed was out of the planet and I shook my head at him and tsk'd as he pulled me into his one armed bro hug and didn't stop typing even then. He just shooed me off and left me in the mercy of Sasha. She was strong, almost monstrously so (I made her drink holy water during my worst Supernatural obsession period because I was rather sure she couldn't be human) and she liked tight hugs. Like 'almost cracks your ribcage' kind of tight hugs. She actually did broke some poor bastard's hand while shaking it in high school.  
"Bye, walk home safe Jean", she smiled as she let me out of her arms. "We love you, right?"  
"Yeah, we love him", Connie muttered to the screen without lifting his eyes even though Sasha nipped his side. I just shook my head.  
"Yeah, and you two should sleep at some point. Bye."  
  
I thought that the walk home in the darkening evening would be nicer than the walk here had been, what with the cooler air an soft wind blowing through the streets. Of course I was wrong. I figured that much after I had decided to take that one shortcut through the smaller streets. To save myself some time, you know. Nothing really went as it should have after that.  
  
I had been walking onwards without much thinking, humming songs under my breath when I heard _them_.  
"Oi mate! What's with your face?" The line was delivered by a sour male voice from somewhere in front of me. Lifting my gaze to a group of seven guys that were all dressed up rather similarly in loose jeans and t-shirts, leaning to the wall looking bored to death.  
"Huh?" I cleverly answered them, cocking my eyebrow in confusion. I had never had anyone call after me at night before so it came as a surprise.  
"I asked you what's with your face?" the man repeated, his pierced lip stretching into a lazy smirk.  
"I - what?" I sure as hell wasn't sure what was going on but I could still sense the bad intentions behind those words.  
"It's gotta be criminally annoying", another guy scoffed and gave the others a look. I don't know if this one with dirty brown hair was their leader or something but at his gaze all of them kicked themselves off the wall and took a step towards me.  
"What the fuck dudes?" I asked, trying to speed up my pace to get past them. It didn't work.  
"Yeah. It really is", the shortest of the guys hummed. "So it's lawful that we beat him up, yeah?"  
  
I didn't have much time for retorting a comeback because one of the guys - a redhead - was already lunging a punch towards me. I yelped, managing to dodge it and kick him to his shin. It made my own toes throb dully but I didn't have time to pay attention to it - I really wanted to swear too but I was too busy not biting my tongue to do so. A second and a third guy were already up to my left and ready to attack by that point. So I kept my swears inside my head as I tried to return the punches and kicks the best I could. But naturally it was worth pig's shit and the guys soon had me on the ground after one of them delivered an uppercut that left my world swinging to my jawline. Which wasn't surprising at all seeing their superior number and physical abilities. Sasha was right. I was skinnier than a fuck. The colours of the spray coloured wall behind them was getting smudgy, it's colours mulling together in my eyes and everything was swaying as the men's laughter echoed in the street. Or maybe it only echoed in my ears.  
  
The shortest of the rest of the air that had resided in my lungs. Fuck. This wasn't going to end well if this went on. I would definitely make a nice trip to the hospital before dawn. If I would even make it that far.  
  
Then, rather suddenly, luck finally took my side that day. In the form of a man.  
  
He didn't give out his presence before he already had the first guys yanked down by his collar, swept to the ground with a smooth kick to his ankles. Before the others or me really had time to react to what had happened he pushed himself in front of the tallest guy, heaving him up by his shoulder and down the ground atop his first victim. The shortie who had just kicked me turned to face him, delivering some kind of deadly looking flying kick towards the newcomer. The man from the shadows moved shiftily aside, blocking the kick with the side of his left hand while reaching out to punch the guy in the face with the other. All that before he even collided with the ground and my eyes could barely follow and even less understand what was happening.  
  
The four guys left standing at that point were clever enough to group against him, all lunging down at him with curses slipping off their lips but the new guy didn't even flinch. His long leg knocked one down, he elbowed the second in the stomach and punched the third. The fourth one he grabbed from collar, jumping backwards with a sly grin on his face and throwing the helpless guy off with his leg as his back collided with the ground. He himself resolved the situation by rolling over his shoulder and straight up to his feet, his eyes locked to me. I barely managed to blink before he was by my side, scooping me off the ground bridal style. I wish I was kidding but I wasn't - I literally found myself in the girliest imaginable position on a strangers arms faster than I could have muttered the word 'cat'.  
  
Then? Then he ran.  
"You okay?", he asked, his voice clear and unbothered without a sign of strain. Which was rather weird for a man who had just taken down seven men and was running with eight in his arms.  
"I… guess", I muttered, feeling my body throb all over. My breathing was still on the shallow side but other than that I didn't feel as broken as I had feared.  
"How the fuck did you take down those guys, tho?"      
"Years and years of martial arts and sheer luck", the man laughed as we reached the lit street. I could see his freckles under the lights that travelled across his face as he ran under them and away. His face had a rather friendly look on it, he had short black hair and deep, dark eyes. He really didn't look like your average... I don't even know what I should compare him to. A superman?  
"Should I take you to the hospital?" he asked, his trotting steady and breath still unbothered. That… couldn't be normal anymore. Furthermore, the embarrassment had started creeping up to my bruised bones - I was being carried like a princess. By a man.  
"I'm fine. You can put me down and all you know?"  
"I don't think so", the stranger firmly refused. "Your right ankle looks pretty swollen and I'm afraid that you've sprained it. That'd make you incapable of running and I'm not confident that we are safe yet."  
"But I must be heavy to carry-"  
"Not at all!" the stranger beamed. "You are actually pretty light."  
"You made it sound like you would have expected me to be heavy", I sighed and gave up. The man clearly wasn't going to let me down so I better not fight it, then. Especially seeing what he just did to those guys there.  
"Sush, don't let your personal discomfort on your body cloud my opinion of it", the man chuckled, giving me a cheeky grin before setting his eyes back to the streets ahead.  
"Dude, you are weird." It was surprisingly hard to shake my head when it was repetitively bumping against his firm chest.  
"Thank you." A simple thanks said in a sincere tone without a hint of sarcasm. Underline and overline the weird, he's definitely a nutcase.  
  
I set my eyes rather shamelessly to his profile. It was definitely starting to creep me out how he didn't seem to be shedding and sweat. Actually, now that I thought about it, the fingers pressed against my naked arms were _cool_. His body temperature hadn't even risen up after all this exercise - the hell was up with him? Steroids? Something worse?  
  
Unfortunately, I fainted before I could ask him about it. The uppercut to my jaw must have been more serious than I had thought it to be since my memories blank there. The next I knew I was waking up to the too bright room and wincing at the added brightness of my phone screen as I checked the time. My eyes were sore and could barely keep in focus - I felt like utter shit. Or like triple shit. What ever. Horrible anyways.  
  
Somehow I managed to pull myself up and make my way downstairs hopping with one leg. My mum spotted me as I descended the stairs and hurried to help to get my arse over to the couch. I noticed that my wrapped up ankle wasn't the only thing that had taken damage based on the bandages covering my legs and arms. Weird. Such a weird feeling.  
"What happened?" I questioned before mum had time to ask anything herself, gladly taking the glass of water that she offered me. I could have sworn that a small army was marching through my veins based on my headache, poking their tiny knives at the my temples.  
"A sweet boy came to our door carrying you in his hands, that's what happened", she sighed and took my hand carefully between her smaller ones. "You had lost consciousness. I almost hit him but he managed to calm me down before I did it."  
"Good. As long as memory serves he saved me." I winced as mum touched my knuckles, looking at the torn skin. When had it happened? I couldn't remember.  
"He said you got attacked by some guys on the streets and that he pulled you off and managed to deliver you to safety", mum explained, carefully drawing calming circles atop my palm with her thumb.  
"'Pulled me off'? That's the understatement of the fucking century, the guy literally beat up those guys and carried me off the scene."  
"Oh dear. He didn't seem that strong."  
"I know", I muttered and settled into silence with her, replaying what I could remember of the fight. It took me a while to realise what it had been that had bothered me most about the man.  
  
I lowered my glass to the table carefully before turning my attention towards my mother.  
"Mum, this will sound weird but was he sweating when he arrived?"  
"No, he looked very composed and fresh. Why so?" she asked, her brows set up high. That's the answer that I kind of... both expected and feared.  
"The guy's either an Olympic level athletic or he has some kind of medical condition. It's inhuman not to sweat after beating up those guys and running all the way here with me in his arms." Please, be on my side on this one mum. I feel like I'm going insane.  
"I am sure that he was just in a very good condition, Jean."  
"I know I know..." Yeah, of course she wasn't, what was I expecting. My mother was definitely a bigger one of what had been explicitly proved to be true and didn't ponder much about the possibilities of this Earth.  
  
But I? I couldn't stop thinking about the cold fingertips pressing onto my skin and his effortless displays of strength he shouldn't even possess. Of that pale, freckled skin that hadn't had a sweat drop on it. And I needed to figure it out, I needed to.  
"Mum, can you give me our tablet?"  
"Are you sure you should be using that? What about your head?" mum worried, and I shook my head miffed, my thoughts already rabidly messed up with all the possibilities and what ifs.  
"Just give me the tablet, mum." It sounded harsher than I had meant, halfway towards a command in its tone but it didn't really matter right then. Mum sighed and got the tablet for me, helping me to settle to lay back on the sofa comfortably without hurting myself.  
"So, did this man say his name or anything?" I asked her, trying to sound as casual as possible. Not like a creeper, at least. Mum didn't like creepers.  
"Oh, yes. He said that his name is Marco Bott. Why? Trying to find him on Facebook to send thanks?" she questioned cheerily and I replied with a small shake of my head. Which reminded me of the hits and that, uh, shaking my head wasn't the brightest idea in my condition. I took a few deep breaths before answering her, shrugging at it as if I didn't care.  
"I am not even on Facebook mum, so no. Just thinking, nothing more. He looked kind of familiar." He actually did, but I couldn't catch where I had seen him. In the streets? At a shop? I didn't know.  
"He did say he's a third year med student. Maybe he's in your university?" mum offered. In my university? That would make sense but also really not.  
"That could be. Thanks mum."  
"You're welcome. Do you want something to eat?"  
"Mmm'm, I'm starving", I sighed as I started to type away on the touch screen.  
  
Marco Bott. Marco Bott.  
  
It's time to find out just what the hell you are.  
  



	2. Cafe mocha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you come to the conclusion that someone is possibly, just maybe, a vampire, the most natural reaction is to trail them, right?

When googling 'vampires', you will be faced with 16 100 000 results in 0.25 seconds. The first thing the machine suggests you is the google picture search, second Wikipedia article and third IMdb's article on the movie 'Vampires'. If you edit your search into 'vampire myths', you only get 3 380 000 results in 0.26 seconds, but those are interesting search results. However, that Wikipedia will still be hanging there. Pro tip: add '-wikipedia' after the word or term that you are searching for if you don't want to see the Wikipedia results. Second pro tip: add quotation marks around the word or phrase that you are searching and you only get the results with that exact word order in them. You can also combine these- the search ' "vampire myths" - wikipedia ' gives you 27 100 results in 0.23 seconds and your life suddenly seems more hopeful. You are welcome.  
  
After I had intertwined myself deep into the world of the internet for a few hours, researching on the topic of vampires I felt fulfilled. I wasn't even sure why I felt the need for the research - I had the details quite clearly up in my mind since vampires are one of the most commonly used supernatural monsters in fiction. I guess I, maybe, just wanted to check for other myths that I might not have been aware of. However it was, my result didn't fulfil me with sparkling new information and the basics of vampirism stayed the same in my mind: superhuman strength, possibly combined with unnaturally good hearing and sense of smell. It was debated whether vampires were pale or not - most sources liked to say that they were, but some supported the theory that Joseph Sheridan Le Fanu used in his Carmilla book about vampires looking just as lively as any humans around them. It was commonly believed that vampires were cold to touch, definitely not alive but neither dead and they also probably didn't fancy garlic around them. They were said to be killed by a stake through the heart, silver or cutting of their head. The theories of vampire's teeth varied widely - some believe them to be retracting, some stagnant, some said they have one pair of them, some two and some believe them to have a constantly new set of teeth. There were the myths about turning into bats, being photosentive, not reflecting in the mirror or showing up in pictures, not being able to handle normal food or drinks. Oh, and drinking human blood, of course. But if you weren't aware of that, you probably haven't been alive after 1500's or you most certainly aren't living. Who the hell doesn't know vampire stories? Really? Also, if you are in the mood for some vampire reading, try the before mentioned Carmilla book. It's older than the Dracula stories, and honestly? I'd much rather spend my time reading about attractive female vampires - hey, come on, we all agree that Carmilla was really pretty, right? - sucking another woman's blood from her chest than read about some creepy old guy but hey, everyone's got their own preferences and I aint judging you based on them.  
  
To get back to the more pressing issues at hand - Marco. Marco Bott. Our sweet neighbourhood kid  or the pretentious neighbourhood vampire? That's the hot topic of the week. Before you rule me off as someone completely crazy, let me explain how I have ended up in the most ridiculous sounding conclusion of him possibly being a vampire. Listen, there's no way to deny that this boy was pale. Of course it's notable that a lot of as severely freckled people as him were often pale but that was redheads- I had no idea if the same happened with people with black hair. So I don't know. Even if he was naturally pale, he seems somehow really 'washed out' pale if that makes any sense. Like a coloured paper that has faded after someone had left it out under a prolonged exposure of sunlight or how some clothes started losing colours in washing machine. That kind of a worn down pale and it wasn't just his paleness - he was also quite cold. Not like ice cube kind of cold or anything, more like cool. Cool to touch. Still colder than he should be in my opinion, especially after running around. That takes me to the most suspicious part of him - the way he didn't sweat or get heavier breath after that horrendous amount of heavy exercise was something I couldn't wrap my head around. No human could do that- not a single one as far as I had been correctly informed in my schooling of life. It all screamed suspicious to me, almost like an imprinted tattoo on his forehead. So I couldn't leave it to rest - it was all too distracting to ignore, too titillating for the mind. So I had found myself wrapped up in these thoughts since I woke up bandaged up on my bed that morning.  
  
It was naturally worth mentioning that there are other mystical creatures with superhuman strength but in my mind vampire seemed like the most logical opinion based on the circumstances that I met him under. It was quite dark, not really but quite so - and I had always been a supporter of the story that vampires weren't as bad with sunlight as some of the tales let you think. Of course, one could also blame the way my thought process twisted to the favour of vampirism on the fact that I rather adored them but I wouldn't say it so. It was just that the more I thought about it, the less he seemed like any other creature that crossed my mind. Wendigo he couldn't be for numerous reasons - first one being that we were in the wrong damn continent. Secondly, there hadn't been any wars, extremely harsh winters or anything similar that would have forced people into cannibalism lately. Third - he looked way too human to be one and importantly, fourth reason is that if he was one I'd already be stocked up for later use. So no. Werewolf? I don't think so, it was 10 days after the full moon (you bet that I checked it) and  I think that werewolves are supposed to be pretty much exactly like humans outside their, you know, monthly wolf cycle time. The next creatures coming to my mind were ghouls, human like reflections that originate from the deserts and eat humans. The European version of the tale they feed on the dead, but in the original one they feast on the living. So go figure, but I do hope that he's not one. He felt rather real for one.  
  
Naturally, as the boy with the demon trap under my carpet who had been dreaming of supernatural beings for years and years it was easy to theorize that someone would be a vampire. To make it diagnosis, rather than speculation, I of course needed some kind of proof. That is essentially why I found myself lurking in the same back alley where I had met him, five days after our first meeting. If you are inclined to know why I needed five days... all I can say, the bastard was right: I had twisted my ankle. Badly, atop that, and even after five days it was bit of a pain to walk around with my dark purple dotted leg even with my ankle tightly wrapped up. But five days was the limit of my nerves and nothing was keeping me at home anymore. I was thirsty for proof, for new information - I needed to see him again, not in the creepy way. I just needed him to fight someone else, or to do something amazingly inhuman.  Like drinking someone's blood. A man can hope, can't he?  
  
In the end, what happened was nothing. Literally nothing worth mentioning. Basically, I stood there for two hours like the most ridiculous idiot who has ever walked on this god damn planet before I realised that hey, the man (or vampire) might as well be on another street tonight. So after some, probably over dramatic (but hey I was tired and pissed off) swearing I kicked myself to move forward and started walking from a shady street to a shadier one, on and on. Till my feet ached and the sunlight started peeking stronger from in between the building. Then? Nothing. Literally nothing. Next to empty cans, full trashcans, drunk teens, a few homeless and stray cats that ran off to the shadows as I got closer I didn't see anything. On my first night out on the watch, I didn't even see a shadow of the freckled man. I returned home when sunshine started tickling the tip of my nose tired as you can be and fell to my bed. Only to refuse breakfast two hours later and taking my sweet time sleeping till the later afternoon, waking up feeling kinda bitter at life for not working by the rules of the movie world - if it did, I would surely have found the man already. But whereas movies had set a time limit, neither me nor Marco did. So it wasn't that surprising that we didn't cross paths. Just plain annoying and frustrating. The same game went on for a few days before I finally saw him. Actually, five days - I'm pretty sure there's some kind of thing between me and the number five. Well, whatever, it was Tuesday, the 6 th of May when I finally caught the next eyeful of my vampire to be or not to be.  
  
It was probably for the best that the Eren-Armin-Mikasa trio had already departed for the seafaring school and that Sasha and Connie were in the middle of some kind of online game tournament - one of those games where they play pretended to be mages which I completely, utterly sucked at myself at - there's no need to think too deeply about that, tho. The main point was, and still is, that all of my friends were busy with something or out of town so no-one cared even if I flipped my sleeping schedule upside down. Except mum, but she gave up trying to wake me up in the mornings after a few days. She knows me well enough to know that when I sleep, I sleep - no matter what's going on around me. Which maybe isn't the best feature on a person but hey, I can't be fabulous all over, can I?  
  
Well, what ever. It was thanks to it that I indeed managed to see him. I was patrolling the streets - I really preferred calling it patrolling instead of 'walking while trying to look as natural and unafraid as possible' even though the latter was closer to the truth - like the past few nights before when I saw him. Exiting a 24h coffee shop. Carrying around six steaming cups.  
  
That was disappointingly human.  
   
Despite it I decided to follow him, pondering about whether or not vampires could stand caffeine or not. Probably not? At least according to the legends? Luckily, I didn't have too much time to mull over it before Marco had reached a homeless guy and offered him a cup, therefore making it clear that the coffee wasn't for himself. From where I was standing, I could faintly heart him telling the homeless guy "I have two lattes, two latte machiattos, two mochas and two bare black coffees" as the man asked him what he had to offer. The man opted for a latte, thanking Marco sweetly and he laughed it off, bidding the man goodnight.  He carried on and I followed him, trying to look like I didn't follow him the hardest that I could, wishing the homeless man a good night, too, as I felt his eyes following me. On the second thought, I ran back to him and dropped a few coins to the hat in front of him.  
  
"Is he always giving out coffee?" I asked, gesturing towards Marco. The man stared suspiciously from me to the coins and didn't answer. I reckoned that his loyalties weren't ones to buy but to win, so I lowered down to his level, crossing my hands around my knees and looked straight into the strangers dark eyes.  
"He saved me the other night when I was getting beaten up, and I only just saw him again", I explained, keeping my eye contact steady.    
"I want to thank him but I am a bit scared he doesn't remember me so I am kind of... collecting courage." It ended in a half whisper, my voice cracking from misuse, but once in a while it was on my side, giving my farce a bit more of emotional stand ground. At least it seemed to work on this man, based on the way his features relaxed and softened, a small, tired smile growing to his lips.  
"I'm sure that he does son, I'm sure", the man grumbled, his voice coarse and teeth yellow. "He even knows my name and no one knows my name. He knows everyone's names. He buys coffee a few times a week and gives them out to people who look like they need it - the homeless, the sad, the trackers who are trying to fight the urges. He's scared of nothing, that kid, and he's very sweet."  
"He does seem like that", I muttered as a reply and glanced towards the direction Marco had disappeared to. "Look, I still really want to catch up with him to thank him so I gotta go. Buy a sandwich or something with the money and have a good evening, sir".  
"Best of luck", the man answered before raising the drink back to his lips. I could have sworn that he chuckled 'sir, me?' under his greyish moustache with a shake of his head as he settled the drink back down, but I didn't stay behind to make sure of it.  
  
As I caught up with Marco, he seemed to have already found his next target - a girl with messy auburn hair half way down her face. She seemed to have been crying, a lot, and Marco was talking to her in murmurs in a calm, sweet tone. The girl picked up one of the black coffees, shoving it in front of Marco's face, asking him to taste test it to prove that he wasn't trying to poison her.  
"I hate coffee", Marco laughed as he took the cup from the girl's hand. "But for your sake, I will", he continued, taking a sip out of the coffee. Seemingly happy with this reaction the girl took the coffee, thanked Marco and walked away. Marco continued forward, down a few streets with me following as close by as I dared before he gave out his next two coffees - the last latte and a mocha- to a lesbian couple with striking height difference after he saw them get shouted at by some drunks. The girls thanked Marco and the smaller one of them gave him a kiss on the cheek with teary eyes. He wished them a good night and waved a little before continuing his way, after giving the drunks a strong glare that spoke on volumes but he didn't approach them any closer. He looked a little paler than before - if that was even possible - and stopped few times out of nowhere wincing and pressing his free hand to his stomach.  
  
Now, I could be overreacting, but maybe he was reacting to that sip of coffee before?  
  
The painful winces apart, he continued onwards, gave out a coffee to a bald dude maybe in his early 30s who seemed to be in the middle of chain smoking while constantly checking his phone. Somehow I wasn't surprised at all to see the man taking the last black coffee. The next person Marco comforted a few minutes later was an elderly woman with grey hair, sitting on her wheelchair and seemingly just enjoying the night in front of her apartment - at least I figured it was her house based on how it had one of those wheelchair ramps leading to the front door. The woman clearly knew Marco and she held his free hand between her spotted and wrinkled ones, scolding him for not wearing any gloves.  
"It's okay Sofia, my hands are always cold", Marco smiled, trying to console her. "I think it's bad blood circulation or something."  
"At a such a young age you should take better care of yourself, young man. Have you seen a doctor about it?"  
"I indeed have. It's kind of a thing in the family. Shouldn't be anything too worrying", Marco laughed, slipping his hand from between the woman's. I was standing in front of a small kiosk, pretending to be reading the magazine headlines, looking at their reflections in the window. It a was surprisingly great way to follow their actions.  
"You want a latte macchiato, right?" he asked the woman, already handing the coffee to the woman - Sofia, was it? She smiled sweetly, taking it to herself.  
"Yes, thank you. I'd like that very much."  
  
Marco stayed silent for a while, looking at the old woman with an expression that I couldn't read.  
"Has he come back yet?", he then asked, tilting his head slightly to the side. The woman shook her head softly.  
"No, Henry still hasn't come back. The youngsters these days... at least there are some like you still left" she sighed and smiled sadly.  
"I am sure he'll be back one of these days, Sofia", Marco comforted her. "I'm going to continue my round now, have a nice night, Sofia."  
"That's good, sweetheart. I will knit you mittens one of these days", she laughed.  
"You are way too kind to me. There's no need to", Marco declined politely but the old woman just shooed him off.  
"But I want to."  
"Well, I'm not going to prevent you from doing so, then", Marco laughed and waved her goodbye, slowly continuing his walk down the street on his right. I was waiting for my chance to follow him when I saw him stopping to talk to a man almost immediately after that, so I decided that I had enough time to buy a chocolate bar from the shop to look less suspicious. I slipped inside the shop and bought myself a bar of dark chocolate with raspberries and paid the bored looking cashier with a fiver. As I emerged from the shop I saw the man Marco had talked to standing alone, with a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. That was bad.  
  
I swore under my breath and hurried across the opening and past the man, trying to catch up with Marco. The street I looked at was empty, so he must have walked to the end of the road where it divided into a t-shaped cross road. Which meant that I had to hurry up and rush for it, to see which direction he had turned to or I'd lose him. I hastened my phase, kicking my feet forward in a speed that started resembling running more than walking. I had just made it to the end of that road when it happened.  
  
"And one cafe mocha for Jean Kirstein."  
  
My heart almost fucking gave up on the spot and I stopped in my tracks as if I had hit a wall.  
Then, I turned to the left.  
  
Marco was leaning to the wall, definitely looking paler than before and seemingly sweating a little. In his hand he had the last cup of coffee, holding it out in my direction.  
"Take it", he commanded and shook his hand a bit. I managed to drag myself closer to him and actually take the cup out of his hands despite my shell shocked state.  
"I... thank you?" It came out like a question, even though it was supposed to be a simple thank you. Good job me. Extremely so, even.  
"So?" he asked, letting the now free hand drop from the wall to his side as he glared at me from under his eyebrows. There was no continuation to his question after a few seconds, so I took it as my cue to speak.  
"You give out free coffee to people in need?" I asked and carefully sipped my coffee. It wasn't half bad, to be honest. I should try to remember the name of that coffee shop he got it from.  
"Yes. Usually on Tuesdays and Thursdays." Straight on the business, I see.  
"I see. Why did I deserve one?" I questioned, thinking back to the homeless man's words earlier on about how he gave the coffee out to those in need. I wasn't exactly in need, was I?  
"Because you seriously need some help based on your stalking skills."  
  
Well. Thanks Marco. That kind of hurt. My ego's bleeding.  
  
"Didn't think I was that bad...", I muttered, turning my eyes from his to somewhere down to the ground between our shoes.  
"You were worse than bad. I knew you were there the whole time." Oh come on.  
"Did you hear me or something?", I asked as casually as I could, trying to get at least something out of the situation that seemed to be turning ridiculously embarrassing for me, taking another sip of my coffee while waiting for his reply. It came after a tired looking shrug.  
"Yes. Next to seeing you, that is", he sighed.  
  
So he did have good hearing, eh?  
  
"I see", I smiled, shrugging.  
"Why are you following me, Jean?" Marco asked, his voice cold and tired.  
"Why do you know my name?" I asked back at him, both to avoid answering and to get an answer to the fact that had been bugging me.  
"You told me. Next to your address. Just before fainting", Marco shrugged and yawned.  
"I told you my whole name?" Don't think so. I never do.  
"No, your first name",  Marco said, raising his eyebrows at the sharpness of my voice. "I read the surname from your door."  
"Oh. Of course." Well that was embarrassing, once again.  
"Mm'm", he hummed, letting his eyes fall closed.  
"Why aren't you drinking any coffee yourself?" I enquired, beckoning from the cup in my hands to him.  
"I'm oversensitive to caffeine. My stomach can't handle it at all", he sighed and looked at my cup with something that looked like sadness on his eyes.  
"I honestly do like the taste though. But it just doesn't agree with me. At all."  
"That's a shame."  
"So, despite your not so swift change of topic I still want to know why you are stalking me, Jean."  
"No reason, really." Despite, you know, me thinking that you probably are a vampire.  
"Would you stop, then?"  
"Probably not?" As in, no way in hell.  
  
Marco glared at me.  
"You said that you have no reason to do so."  
"It might just have been a lie."  
Marco sighed.  
"I don't understand what I did to deserve this. I helped you out? Why are you creeping on me?"  
"Oh, yeah, thanks for doing that by the way. Got me out of some serious trouble", I smirked.  
"What are you, though? Some kind of saviour of the night, running between fights to save the innocent and giving out coffee to those in need?"  
  
Marco snorted out  sudden laughter. Well paint me surprised now, that wasn't what I expected.  
  
"I am sorry", he giggled, waving his hand. "Despite my boxers saying so, I'm not a saviour of the night", he continued, still ridiculously into that giggling thing. The face I made seemed to make him just laugh harder.  
"Despite your... boxers?" I asked, and he nodded frantically. Okay, what in the ever loving hell is going on right now.  
"I'm afraid that I have no idea what you're talking about, Marco."  
"Oh, of course, pardon me just a second", he snickered and pulled the hem of his white dress shirt from under his trousers.  
  
Okay.  
What?  
  
"See?" he asked, with gleaming eyes as he raised his shirt. He poked his finger to the visible waistband of his underwear. It took me to moment to realise that yeah, I was totally supposed to look at that and not the happy trail I saw travelling up his defined lower abs. Ugh.  
"Read it", he urged me and I leaned a bit closer to be able to read the few centimeters high black letters on the blue band.  
"Saviour... of... lonely... nights.." I read aloud.  
"Yep", he giggled. The guy could giggle.  
"Saviour of lonely nights. Oh my god are you kidding me", I snorted and made a face at him. "That's about level thousand dorky."  
"I know! But it's funny", he said and sadly decided that it was the moment to tuck his shirt back in. I mean. Not sad.  
  
Concentrate, Jean Kirstein. Concentrate. You're here to get proof that he's not human, not to admire well built bodies. Possibly very deadly well built and sexy bodies. Concentrate on the deadly part, man. Concentrate.  
  
"So. Tomorrow", he said, breaking my chain of thinking.  
"What?" Had I missed something while drooling over his well defined hipbones?  
"Tomorrow I'm going to walk around the streets and give out sandwiches. I'm coming to get you from your door at 8:30."  
"Wait what?" Marco, help me a little here buddy. I don't understand what you are talking about.  
"If you're going to keep on stalking me, you better make yourself even the slightest bit useful. Plus I feel sorry for you since you had to search for me on so many nights."  
"Wait, wait how do you know about that?" First of all - yes, please take me with you, but please tell me that he didn't know about me trying to find him all along.  
"I have eyes and ears all over the city. No, kidding, I walked like a street behind you a few times or saw you turning behind a corner and stuff like that. Now that you were clearly stalking me tonight I just had to add one to one and I realised what's going on."  
"I see." Sadly, I did. I must have looked like an absolute idiot.  
"I still don't exactly like your stalking but who cares", Marco shrugged. "You could be useful extra pair of hands tomorrow."  
"You're weird."  
"Says the stalker. Why do you even stalk me, really? I'm not an interesting person."  
"I think you should leave that to my judgment."  
"Hmm, I see", he hummed and stretched his arms.  
"I'm tired and already gave out all of my coffee, so I'm calling it a night. Will you make it home safely, Jean, or should I walk you back?"  
"I'm not a baby, I can walk on my own." No matter how much I'd like the extra time to stalk the man, I didn't exactly want to come off as a useless child, either.  
"Good. Remember, 8:30 tomorrow."  
"At my doorstep. Yes, I do."  
"Great. Goodnight, Jean Kirstein."  
"Good night, Marco Bott."  
  
Saying good night to a potential vampire after making plans with him shouldn't probably have felt like the most natural thing in the world.  
  
But somehow it did.


	3. Sandwiches and scary boys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bakers with overly active libidos, a lot of talking and tea. Or then not.

Still five years earlier  
7 th of May  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
Pull out your pencils and notepads kids, it's time to start writing down notes of our probable vampire. Make this your first note: he likes arriving before the set time. Which is why I was still casually walking around topless and drinking juice straight from the box when the doorbell rang. Which is also why mum opened the door as I tried not to choke on said juice. Never trust mango juice with bits, man. As your second note you could write down that he really likes wearing white button ups with khakis. So much that it might start to resemble some kind of weird fetish. Third: he worries a lot. Or then pretends to. I don't know which. This I found out as he ran into the kitchen to pat my back as I was trying to cough the liquid out of my lungs where it had accidentally slipped. My mum followed him to the kitchen and slowly shook her head at the scene.  
"If you can't survive living without getting beaten up or nearly killing yourself by drinking juice, you should probably think about hiring Marco as your personal life guard slash nurse."  
"Fuck off", I choked from between my coughs, giving her the most murderous glare that I could manage while spitting out fruit pieces.  
"That's not how you talk to your mum, young one. Straighten your back and welcome your visitor and offer him a drink at the least."  
"Oh, it's completely okay Mrs. Kirstein, don't worry about it!" Marco hurried to ensure, his hand still resting on my back.  
"There's no point in doing that Marco. Welcome to the pigsty, do you want something to drink?" I muttered, straightening my back. He pulled his hand away from my back, but left it hovering close by.  
"Uh.. I am fine. Are you fine?" Marco questioned with a nervous tone, his eyebrows set up high.  
"I'm fucking fantastic. Little juice ain't gonna kill me. Mum, we're leaving."  
"Put a shirt on", she sighed and threw the shirt that was waiting on the counter at my face. I muttered something as I pulled it on and hurried Marco off.  
"Bye, Mrs Kirstein", he called out from the doorway as I pushed him outside. I slammed the door closed before mum had time to answer.  
  
We stood in front of my front door for a few seconds, just looking at each other.  
"You're early", I informed him and tapped my metaphorical wrist watch.  
"Isn't it polite to arrive five minutes before the set time?" he asked, tilting his head to the side. Guys I think I found a habit of his.  
"Maybe to a work interview. But as you can tell, don't come to get me early. I'm ready when I'm told to be ready and not a minute before."  
"I will try to remember that, Jean. Are you ready to go now?"  
"Yeah. Can't see you carrying any sandwiches so I guess we are going off to get those?"  
"Correct. Follow me."  
  
I did. Fifth note: he has a nice arse. No wait fuck it was supposed to be fourth. Fourth note.  
  
He led me through the streets in silence, towards the western side of the town. Towards the harbouring area, that was.  
"Okay, Marco", I finally spoke up as the smell of the sea hit my senses. "Are we actually getting sandwiches or are you going to murder me in a harbour container Dexter style?"  
He stopped in his tracks and turned around to look at me, his eyebrows shot up.  
"You watch Dexter?" he asked.  
"Yeah. Next to twenty or so other things."  
"Well. I wouldn't have guessed. But no, I am not going to murder you in a harbour container. We are going to the bakery on the corner of Saddle Street."  
"Saddle Street... that's right by the harbour, isn't it? I didn't know that there's a bakery there."  
"There is. It's called Ackerman & c.o. which is kind of funny for a bakery, I guess."  
"Wait", I said, feeling a cold spreading to my cut. "Ackerman who?"  
"Huh? Umm... by Levi Ackerman and his.. partners?"  
"Fuck", I muttered. That was exactly what I'd call my luck.  
"What?" Marco asked, even more confused. "Is there a problem?"  
"No, not in the exact sense", I sighed. "I just think that we're talking about my neighbour."  
"Your neighbour? Really?"  
"Maybe. I mean, at least the name says that some L Ackerman lives next door."  
"You sound a little off. Is there a problem with him?"  
"In addition to his over active libido? No."  
"I... am not sure if I want to know why you know about his libido", Marco muttered and his face fell to a queasy expression. It didn't take me long to figure out what he was thinking.  
"No! Oh god no! I'm not banging him!" I shouted before I could control myself. "His bedroom is right next to mine. I can hear them through the walls", I continued with a lower voice. Marco made an 'oh' sound and nodded.  
"I see."  
"Yeah. So he has a bakery."  
"Yeah."  
"Why just that bakery?"  
"I made a deal with him and his partners. They make sandwiches every Wednesday for me to give out for free."  
"In exchange for what?"  
"I'm not fucking them, either, if that's what you are asking."  
"No. Wait, them?"  
"Yes? He owns the bakery with his dates."  
"Dates?"  
  
Marco waved his hands around a little bit, clearly thinking of how to answer. Fifth note: he likes to talk with his hands.  
"He's in a polyamorous relationship with two other people. That's what I mean."  
"Oh. That explains why there's so much fucking going on in that room."  
Marco didn't answer that. I realised that he never answered my question, either, but I didn't have time to question him before his face lit up and he rose his hand to a wave. I followed his gaze to see a tall, blond man leaning at the wall some distance away from us with a cigar between his teeth.  
  
"Marco! It's good to see you", he said, a charming smile lighting up his Captain America level handsome features.  "You brought a friend along?"  
"He's more of a stalker who I decided to put into good use", Marco shrugged after glancing at me from the corner of his eye. "Erwin, this is Jean Kirstein. Jean, this is Erwin Smith."  
"Evening", I said and took the gloved hand the man offered me. It was his left one. His only one, that is, I noted.  
"Evening. It's a pleasure to meet Marco's stalker", he said with the same charming smile still plastered on his lips, looking at Marco with his eyebrow raised, a questioning look present in his light blue eyes. Marco shrugged at him, and somehow I felt that I missed what really went down in this wordless communication.  
"What kind of sandwiches are we getting this time?" Marco asked, nodding slightly towards the building next to us. I hadn't realised that we were basically in front of the bakery.  
"It's been really hot so we decided to leave out anything that spoils easily. So today's kind of boring, we have cheese-salad-tomato, cheddar-chicken and spinach-feta sandwiches."  
"You call that boring", I gaped and stared at the man. "That's like super good?"  
"Oh, but we had to leave out everything with fish or shellfish. It's a shame."  
"I... I was kinda awaiting sandwiches with like butter and cheese and maybe piece of mettwurst or something."  
"You are German, aren't you?" Mr Smith laughed.  
"French. Half."  
"French-German?"  
"Actually a half local."  
"Guys, no matter how interesting Jean's biological background is, I'd love to get to the work at some point so can we just go inside?" Marco suggested, pointing at the bakery door. Mr Smith smiled.  
"Of course, pardon my rudeness Marco. Follow me", he said, dumping the cigarette from his lips and leading us into the bakery.  
  
The first word to hit my mind was 'clean'. The second was 'how'.  
  
The whole bakery seemed to shine, and I am quite positive that bakeries aren't supposed to shine. I mean, hygiene is important and all that, but the place seemed more sanitary than a hospital. I didn't have too much time to think about it all before a force of something was standing next to me, hugging Marco and screaming with joy. The thing had brown, untidy hair that stuck out under the chef's hat.  
"It's so lovely to see you!" the thing shrieked. I said thing. Because I had no idea whether it was a man or a woman.  
"Hello, Hanji", Marco laughed and seemed to be lost on where to place his hands. "I'm not alone this time."  
This got the being - Hanji? - turning around and setting its eyes on me.  
"Well, you brought one handsome fellow. Please tell me he's like you."  
"He's not. Also. Don't mention the thing."  
"The thing?" I asked, feeling like the baker's eyes were trying to drill a hole into me. Could you be more suspicious than referring to something as 'the thing', Marco?  
"Ah", the person said and stepped forward. "Hello. My name's Hanji."  
"H-hello...", I muttered and took... its outstretched hand in my own. It was covered with thin plastic glove. "I'm Jean Kirstein."  
"Nice to meet you Jean Kirstein. Call me Hanji. Or 'they'. Or 'it', I don't mind that either."  
"I... okay", I answered, somewhat happy that I didn't call them a female like I was half planning on doing. That could have turned out pretty awkwardly.  
"Don't scare him away, Hanji. He's supposed to help me to give away the sandwiches tonight", Marco warned playfully, looking at Hanji with soft eyes. Don't ask me what was going on between those two, I wouldn't know.  
"Oh, I won't. I'm not interested in normal people." Normal people? What do you mean normal peopl-  
"Hanji, that's enough", a voice said.  
  
A voice that I'd heard moaning and shouting dirty things more times than I could or would dare to even try to count.  
  
I didn't expect the man to be so tiny, though. But he was, standing there by the counter, giving Hanji stinky eyes. Before setting his own to Marco's and smiling softly. "Welcome again, Marco. Sorry for their inability to act normally."  
  
Note six: everyone likes Marco. Even tiny scary men who scream loudly while having sex.  
  
"It's okay. I'm used to it", Marco laughed. "It's nice to see you, too, Levi. This is Jean Kirstein."  
"Kirstein?" the man asked, his eyes turning to me. Oh god. Did he know that it was me with that bad amateur porn. Oh god no.  
"Hello", I gulped, trying to keep up my composure.  
The man stared at me silently but didn't say anything before turning back to Marco.  
"We just finished with packing the sandwiches. You can take them when you are ready to go."  
"Thank you, Levi. Jean, are you hungry?"  
"Huh? A little, why?" That was out of nowhere.  
"We always make a few extra ones", Erwin explained. "In case we break one while packing it. So you can eat one or two of the extra ones."  
"Oh.. I uh.."  
"We have spinach ones left", Levi informed. "Hanji, give him one. And tea. If he drinks it."  
"Tea's fine", I muttered as Hanji was already giving me a plate with sandwiches on it. "Thank you."  
"Come, let's sit down somewhere", Marco laughed and I followed him to a small table in the corner of the room. I set the plate down hesistantly, afraid that I would manage to sratch the perfect surface.  
  
After I managed to calm my nerves a little and sat down, I didn't hesitate to dig into a sandwich as Levi gave me a cup of tea - it smelled like chai and I smiled while thanking him, even though I was pretty sure that my nervousness could be seen through it. Based on the face that Marco made it was indeed so.  
"So how are we going to give these out?" I asked, barely having enough patience to empty my mouth first. "This thing is fucking amazing by the way."  
"I know. Levi's the best baker in the country", Marco laughed. "He can even make something so simple as a sandwich bread taste better than a meal in a five star restaurant."  
"Why aren't you eating, then?" I asked and gestured towards the plate in between us.  
"Nah, I ate too much at dinner."  
  
Note seven: suspicious behaviour around the subject of eating.  
  
"Ah come one, you can't be that full", I said and pushed the plate towards him. "You know that you are missing out if you don't eat one."  
"I know, I know, but I really am", he laughed and looked at the sandwiches in front of him. "But I could take tea. Levi?"  
"What?" came the reply from somewhere behind my back.  
"Can I also get tea?"  
"Sure. The usual?"  
"The usual."  
  
Tea? Okay, that's weird. That's really weird.  
"What's that face for? I may not be able to handle caffeine, but tea I can do", Marco scoffed.  
"But tea has caffeine in it?" I noted, gesturing round motions to the air. I guess Marco's hand talking was a habit that easily caught on.  
"Not all of it. Levi's not a friend of caffeine either so all his tea is caffeine free", Marco explained with a small smile. Alright, then.  
"What are you, friends with poor caffeine resistance?"  
"Something like that", Marco laughed. "Though friend is probably stretching it a bit too much."  
"Alright, if you say so."  
  
It didn't take long for Mr Ackerman to arrive with a steaming cup of tea.  
"I made you peppermint-licorice tea. That okay, brat?"  
"Absolutely. Thank you so much, Levi."  
"Have you..." the man started, stopping himself to look at me from the corner of his eye. "Have you taken your medication tonight? I don't want someone calling me again, telling me that the 'delivery man with your firms cooler with him has fainted on the street', Marco."  
"To be honest? I forgot", Marco smiled back with a face that beamed 'I'm sorry' at the tired looking man. Mr Ackerman just shook his head tiredly.  
"Of course you did. I'm going to get you your pills, idiot."  
"Thank you. That'd be lovely."  
  
The man walked off and I stared at Marco, suspiciousness rising up inside of me.  
"Pills?"  
"I have a medical condition", he said and tasted his tea. "So I need medication."  
"Why does he have your pills?"  
"Oh, I didn't tell you? I work here part time."  
"You work part time in a bakery?" Something didn't... seem to add up on this thing. Or then I was wrong, but... I couldn't be, right?  
"Yeah. Not much, only around busy seasons or when they get a huge amount of orders at once. I'm very forgetful with my medication so Levi demanded me to give him some of my pills so he can give them to me when I forget."  
"That's a bit creepy." A bit more than a bit creepy.  
"No, it's not", Marco shrugged. "He's a bit like an older brother, you see?"  
"Older brother? I don't know man. How old is he even?"  
"Thirty four, I think."  
"There's no way he's thirty four!" I spat out. "He looks way younger!"  
"But he is. He won the genetic lottery on that", Marco laughed.  
"I just... that's... inhuman."  
"Nah, it's very human. I guess he just exercises enough and eats healthily. Stuff like that."  
  
And has dark circles around his eyes. Next to being pale. Man, that doesn't scream vampire to you, does it?  
  
"Whatever you say. But a medical condition? Are you okay?"  
"Oh, yes, I am. I just have very, very low blood pressure so I faint easily if I don't take my medication. It steadies the pressure."  
"I see. Sorry for prying."  
"Mm'm, it's okay."  
  
Note ... I lost count. Just a note: he says that he has a blood related medical condition. Which quite naturally reminds me of something. Also, I should probably stop taking the notes anyways, because I clearly suck at it.  
   
Mr. Ackerman came back from the backrooms, handing Marco three black-red capsules. Marco thanked him and settled the capsules on the table next to his tea cup.  
"Well", he suddenly said. "Do you want to know where we'll be giving out the bread today?"  
"Gladly", I said, trying to look at the capsules without looking too suspicious. They did look like quite normal medicine capsules.  
"So, I usually walk along the fence that surrounds the harbour area for a few kilometers. To the South. Then I walk through the Southern streets until I run out of sandwiches - if the night's quiet, I might make it all the way to the centre."  
"How much stuff do we have to give out?" I guestioned since I had yet to see the actual sandwiches next to the ones in front of me.  
"Sixty sandwiches. So it's going to be a longer tour than the one with coffee. I walk through the poorest areas and areas popular with the homeless to find people who really need the food, but I will give them out to anyone who seems hungry and wants one."  
"Huh, why?"  
"Because despite my act of saving you, I like to stay out of fights. I've realised that it's better to give demanding drunks their sandwiches rather than attempt to dodge hits while trying to save the rest of the bread. Trust me, it's not worth it."  
"I see. Why did you save me then?"  
  
That seemed to surprise him.  
"Of course I saved you! Why wouldn't I have?"  
"You said that you stay out of fights", I offered. Marco looked disgruntled at my reaction.  
"What was going there that night, wasn't a fight. It was slaughter."  
"Even worse and even more reasons for you to stay away."  
"Are you mad at me for saving you?" he asked, clearly lost on what I was after. I shook my head.  
"No, not in the slightest. Thankful, more like. But confused."  
"Well, I couldn't let someone get beaten when I knew I could help, I guess", Marco shrugged. "No cooler stories behind it. But I'm done with my tea - what about you, Jean? Ready to go?"  
"Yeah", I replied and stood up.  
  
Somehow I sensed that it was going to be a long night as Marco took the cooler that Hanji offered him and thanked them, urging me to follow him as he stepped outside to the slowly chilling evening. I guess the weather wanted to remind us that despite all the heat that it had lately offered it still wasn't really summer. We walked forwards in silence as Marco lead us towards the harbour area and then deeper and deeper within it, the eerie silence slowly growing heavier on our shoulders. Even as we walked forwards and forwards we barely saw any people, managing to give out five snadwiches, all of them within the first ten minutes. We had been walking completely alone in the darkening night, surrounded by anything but what I wanted to be surrounded by. You know those scenes in horror movies, with swings swaying in wind on empty playgrounds painted pale by moonlight as the main character walks by to what seems to be his sure and unavoidable death? Because I damn well felt like I was living one of those. Just with a few adjustments, you know. Change the playground to a harbour and swings to old derricks and their chains. Add a light smell of rotten fish and weird, booming voices coming from the containers. That I definitely didn't want to think about too much. Nope. It's all fine, nothing is gonna hurt me. Well, other than the vampire walking besides me. I mean. Possible vampire. Still unconfirmed.  
"Hey Marcoo", I whined as one of the containers boomed right next to us, but thank god on the other side of the high fence. If it had been on the same side... lets not even go there, mind.  
"Mm, what is it Jean?" he asks, eyes glued to the side of the harbour, even while walking forwards. He looked serious. Nervous, even. Oh fuck I am going to die, aren't I?  
"Can't we go a bit closer to the centre? We've seen barely anyone here." It was the truth, and there was no way Marco could say that it wasn't. Based on the way he worried his lower lip between his teeth he agreed with me.  
"You're right, let's", he muttered and hesitantly teared his eyes off the harbour to check the street next to us before abruptly turning to walk across it. I almost slammed right into him since he was walking on the side of the fence, but managed to turn to side and hurried across the street with him.  
"Where are we going?" I asked, having to almost resort to light jogging next to him. He seemed stiff, his form too collected for casual walking.  
"Please, be quiet for a while and just follow me", Marco muttered as he trotted onwards. Okay. Clear as bells dude, won't bother you then.  
  
We walked through the quiet streets without saying anything. Everything started seeming quite normal, so I let myself relax a little - that was,  until Marco suddenly turned to some ugly ass tiny back alley and pulled me there after himself. He didn't hesitate to throw me against the wall,covering my mouth with his free hand as he pressed against me before I could say a word. I had a desperate plan of biting his hand forming in my mind, but before I acted on it he placed the cooler down to the ground and he rose a finger to his lips, looking into my eyes.  I realised that he was asking me to be quiet, so I nodded, glad to feel him immediately removing his hand from my mouth. He mouthed 'not a word' before turning aroud, walking back to the direction we came from.  
  
"You got company tonight, Bott?" a voice rang out, snarling around the consonants in a way that it shouldn't do. It was such a broken, nasally voice.  
And I knew that voice.  
"Doesn't concern you. Leave. I'm on duty."  
It belonged to one of the guys who beat me up.  
"But we haven't sorted that out yet", another voice said. The one that had called my face criminally annoying.  
What was going on? Why did these people know Marco. What was their relation next to Marco saving me from them? Why did they know his name?  
I didn't have much time to think because I swear my blood almost froze as Marco suddenly growled out the next words.  
"Get the fuck off before I kill you. Not tonight."  
"Wow, what's gotten into you man? Not so sweet and dandy without your boyfriend around?"  
Marco growled. Roared. Whatever. Words that I couldn't catch from their echoes, but it didn't sound pleasant. At least I think it was Marco who... spoke them out, if it could have been called speaking.  
  
 I could hear retreating footsteps, then nothing. It had been silent for long over a minute before the last steps sounded, this time towards me as Marco returned, a sour look on his face.  
"You okay?" he asked me, looking quite apologetic. "I did push you quite hard, didn't I?"  
"I'm okay. What was that about?"  
"Tsk", was all Marco said,  turning his head slightly towards the direction we came from. "It's no good... they're coming back. Fuck those bastards, I don't want to deal with them tonight. Pull up your hood, Jean. Can you run?"  
"S-sure?" This was starting to sound like a Doctor Who episode, but there were no blue boxes around and instead of an alien madman I was eye to eye with a possible vampire. He smiled.  
"Then run", he said and gripped my hand.  
  
And we ran.  
  
We ran through streets and alleys; the smaller and darker, the better it seemed in Marco's opinion. He kept holding my hand, dragging me forward when I started losing my speed. You see, I wasn't in a bad condition, but neither in a good one. Watching people slaying monsters on the telly doesn't exactly grow you abs. Though actually I had somewhat of a fourpack - from the inspiration that the show gave me - I never just bothered to train running. Found it too boring. Even with the zombie voice app I installed to my phone. Plus my doctor didn't fancy it too much when I told her that I picked up running, so I guess that's partly why I gave it up, too and wandered back to the world of telly watching. Talking of telly - I was having relatively funny flashbacks to the scene where John and Sherlock ran hand in hand in BBC's Sherlock series to be honest. But in the end I watched so much telly, that any aspect of my life could trigger a flashback from a scene in one of the numerous shows I had seen.  
  
We kept running, for what felt like ages. I was at a loss of time and direction and about to tell him that I couldn't go forward anymore when Marco suddenly pulled us to the street next to my home.  
"You have keys?", he asked, and it was the first words either of us had said since he took my hand.  
"Y-eah", I managed to wheeze and pulled them out of my pocket as we slowed down in front of my house. It didn't take me long to open the lock and pull us inside. We kicked off our shoes silently and I led us up the stairs into my room, closed the door and leaned to the wall. Marco followed suite. My breath was ragged and I was afraid my legs would give out if I took another step. So I stood there, even though sitting would have been nice.  
  
"They should do their beating business on some other time than shouldn'tbeawake o' clock and leave poor workers alone", Marco said and gave me an apologizing look from the corner of his eye.  
"They really should", I laughed and shook my head. "Is my face really that annoying?"  
"I think they were after me."  
"Because you helped me out."  
"Touché. Are you okay?" he asked and pulled up the hand that I hadn't even realised that he was still holding, untangling his fingers from mine to press them firmly against my wrist on the side of the thumb. My skin felt cold and sweaty from where it had touched his.  
"Your pulse is kind of high."  
"It's not like I just ran through half of Trost, asshat. It'd be unnatural if my pulse wasn't up."  
"Oh. Of course."  
"Aren't you the med student?"  
"Was. I'm just tired, that's it", he chuckled and let go of my hand. It fell down to my side. I was too tired to even pretend that I would have the willpower nor the power to lift it up.  
"I could eat a horse", I groaned and let my eyes fall closed. Until the bastard replied, that is.  
"Wouldn't that be too cannibalistic?"  
  
I blinked, turning my head to see that his was tilted, an innocent smile playing on his lips and his brows questioningly up.  
"Oh you bastard."  
"At your service."  
  
I couldn't help chuckling at that. I hated it when people made horse jokes of me, I did. But somehow I wasn't too angry with him. He let out a breathy laugh, too, and rubbed his eyes.  
"I left the sandwiches in that back street so I can't offer them. Levi's gonna have my head when I fail to return the container.", he groaned and made a sad face at me. Now I really couldn't help laughing.  
"That's a bit mean."  
"He's going to make you into sandwiches if you aren't careful, Marco", I tittered and smacked his arm.  
"I don't care as long as I'm made into actual sandwiches and not a part of Levi-Hanji-Erwin sandwich", Marco mused with an askew smile on his lips.  
"What, you scared of having sex with them?" I asked, waggling my eyebrows and feeling the smile pushing up the corners of my mouths.  
"Wouldn't you be scared to have sex with Levi?" he asked, shaking his head. "Or actually. I'd be more scared of Hanji. They'd probably try to take test samples of me or something the second I'd get my clothes off."  
"That sounds nasty. Don't make me imagine them poking your balls."  
"It's not my fault that you have a dirty mind, man. I can't take the credit for that", Marco shrugged.  
"You started it."  
"Did I really now?"  
  
I don't know why, but we both started laughing at that. Maybe it was the coming down from the adrenaline rush. Maybe we were tired.  I really don't know. But we laughed and laughed, and it seemed that we couldn't stop. Until I finally managed to wipe the tears from my eyes and collect my breath. I looked over at Marco who was already smiling at me.  
"Hey man, you're a vampire, aren't you?" I asked him, all fair and serious.  
"Yeah and you're the tooth fairy, right?" he answered, matter-of-factly, his face settled in a neutral, business like expression.  
  
We looked at each other. I could feel the corner of my mouth twitching. I held it together until he snorted and we both fell into the next laughing fit. I was soon laying on the ground, cursing my cramping stomach muscles.  
  
I didn't get anything out of his answer. It was too playful, too light to be counted as a confirmation. Well, it doesn't matter. I can always ask him again another day.


	4. Breakfast at the Kirstein’s

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing goes and planned. It never goes, does it now?

Five years earlier,  
8 th of May,  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
I believe that there are confusing experiences to life. Then there are /extremely confusing/ experiences, you know?  
  
Let's say that I was extremely confused when I found myself waking up to the noise of a camera shutter. As I had batted my eyes open, I was met with the scene of my mum standing by my door, her phone pointing at me while a knowing smile played on her lips. That's how I knew that I was, most likely, in deep pee.  
"Morning sweetheart", she smiled. "You want to tell me something?"  
She was doing that eyebrow thing that she always did when she wanted to hint at something, which was extremely confusing seeing that I hadn't even been up long enough to sort out one clever thought. I opened my mouth to ask her what the hell she was going on about when I felt something closing in around my waist.  
  
It took me a moment longer than it should have to register that the thing was a pair of hands instead of the giant octopus from my dreams that was trying to drown me. I slowly craned my neck enough to see who was behind me, even tho I should have known but you know, mornings. It pretty much ended up with my cheek against Marco's round tipped nose and I couldn't help but realise that damn, the guy had a lot of freckles this close by. Until I realised that wait, this was totally not the moment to be thinking about it while my mother was overlooking my every movement, trying to build up her own version of what was happening. I whipped my head back to mum, who had now crossed both her arms and legs, leaning to the doorframe with an expression plastered to her face that left nothing unclear. Oh, come on woman, I get what you mean and I don't like.  
"Listen, it's not what you think-"  
"And that, my son, was the most cliché thing you could ever have offered. Good choice."  
"No, listen. I have no idea what's going on here", I tried, but mum stopped me without a hint of hesistance.  
"No idea how the handsome prince charming ended in our home and why you are sharing your bed. Not to mention that you don't have a shirt on. Are you sure I should believe you?"  
  
Naturally, that was the moment when sleeping Marco thought that it would be an amazing timing to bury his nose even deeper to the dip between my neck and shoulders. I could have hit him. Hard.  
"You should", I said firmly, ignoring the cool-to-the-touch boy pressed to my back. Mum didn't look too convinced.  
"What is he doing here?" she asked, clearly getting ready to inquire me about this. Oh man.  
"I was helping him out with his volunteer job", I calmly explained. Mum stepped her game up to the next level.  
"And you ended up banging in your bed?"  
"We. Did. Not. Have. Sex. Mum." Have some shame, woman. Please.  
"Well what did you do?" she questioned. I really had no idea how Marco could still sleep soundly behind me without stirring up because we weren't exactly being silent there. Fucking bastard was escaping his part of explaining.  
"We got into trouble."  
"I'm not sure whether to sigh or congratulate you. And?"  
"We ran away?" I offered.  
"You ran away?" she repeated.  
"Yeah. To here."  
"You ran away and came to our home."  
"Yes. Exactly."  
"That doesn't explain the bed", she pointed out. True, but why do you have to think about this so deeply, mum?  
"I would explain if I knew", I sighed. "The last I remember, we were sitting down on my bed talking about what happened. How it turned into... this, that I don't know."  
"Missing shirt?" mum fired next. The urge to groan at her was just getting stronger.  
"Wiped the sweat from running to it."  
"Honestly?"  
"What the fuck is wrong with you today? Yes, honestly."  
  
Mum mused over silently for a while, before shrugging.  
"Well, since you came out from the closet I have been waiting for you to bring a cute boy home and now I found you in bed with one. My reaction is quite natural, don't you think?"  
"No, your reaction is anything but natural. Go away."  
"Sure. Wake up the prince charming, I will get you two breakfast and you can explain more over it", she chuchkled and left the room.  
  
Breakfast. That's a great idea. Especially since Marco can't refuse it by saying that his stomach is too full. No one's stomach is full first thing in the morning. I tried to squirm myself out of his snuggle, but he just held onto me tighter. Alright. Time to try other ways.  
"Marco. Wake up", I tried. No answer.  
"Marco, hey seriously." Still no reaction. I sighed and managed to turn around in his arms after a lot of awkward wriggling and puffing as he held me strong enough to cause me slight trouble with breathing. It turned out to be kind of a bad choice, seeing how close he was now, his face nestled right by mine and his body pressed pretty much flush against mine from chest down. I wouldn't say that I had morning wood. I wouldn't say that I didn't have it either, though.  
"Marco", I tried once more. He just wrinkled his nose a bit and puffed out some air that tickled coolly at my lips. Okay. That's enough. I'm not playing nice anymore.  
  
So I punched him to the stomach. To be fair, I couldn't do it hard with the limited space I had for moving my hand, but that did the job. His brown eyes flew open and he let out a gasp, blinking fast several tries, clearly trying to focus his eyes.  
"Hi", I said.  
"H-hi?" he answered.  
"Not to be rude, but would you mind untangling the knot that you have your limbs in? It's kind of alarmingly tight around me."  
"Oh shit", he murmured and after some struggle, seemed to regain enough control to get the upper hand sorted out and slid it to its own place. I gladly rolled to lay on my back now that I could. The freedom felt almost intoxicating.  
"I'm so sorry Jean. I... I'm a kind of cuddly sleeper?"  
"Kind of? I saw a dream where this octopus was trying to kill me but it turned out to be just you."  
"I'm really, really sorry. You are laying on my hand though. I can't really feel it anymore."  
"Too bad, you'll have a horrible case of pins and needles when I move, won't you? With all the blood rushing back to your arm and all."  
"Paresthesia is rather caused by having too much pressure on a nerve in cases like this, not for blood not being able to move freely in the area under the pressure."  
"Whatever you say", I muttered, shaking my head at him. "Oh yeah. Mum woke me up", I continued, coating my voice with venom the best that I could. Marco seemed to freeze at that and turned to look at me. I guess the voice worked this time.  
"She... woke you up", he repeated, clearly catching on that this wasn't about her just waking me up.  
"Yes", I confirmed. "She thought that we banged last night."  
"I hope you explained the situation", Marco breathed out after a moment of silence. He seemed rather unfaced from being assumed to be a gay, though, so I guess he wasn't the homophobic sort.  
"I tried. But it was a bit hard when you were clinging to me and snuggling your face to my neck."  
"Oh my god", Marco groaned and buried his face behind his hands. "I really am sorry."  
"It's fine. I don't remember falling asleep though."  
"Neither do I. We were talking. Sitting up. Why are we laying down?" Marco questioned from behing his hands. Sorry buddy, I'd like to know that, too.  
"If I knew I would tell you. Anyways. Mum told me to wake 'the prince charming' and to get our arses down for a breakfast to explain ourselves."  
"Breakfast?" Marco asked, still hiding behind his palms. This is going to be fun.  
"Yeah. It's morning. Humans usually eat breakfast", I smirked and pulled myself to a sitting position. "It's the most important meal of the day, you know?"  
"Of course I know that."  
"Don't even try to tell me you're not hungry. You have gone without food for over 12 hours", I said and pointed to the clock on the wall, without even bothering to check if he was still behind his hands or not. "It's bad for your body if you don't give it nutrition often enough. And by the way, I'm going to pee now so try to get out of the bed meanwhile and don't even think about running away. I need your help with taming the mum."  
"Right", he replied, still laying down in the exact same position as I closed the door behind me and walked across the small space between mine and the toilet door. Once inside, I took my time relieving myself and washing my face, creating theories on how to get him to eat if he tried to refuse. He was not getting off the hook easily. If nothing else, I could always ask him if he's a vampire again in case he refuses to eat. He wasn't tired after all the running yesterday either, more like relaxed.  
  
As I returned to the room, Marco was standing up in front of my mirror. Okay, one thing was clear - he does have a reflection. But scientifically speaking, it would make sense - I mean... if he didn't have a reflection, shouldn't it mean that he doesn't reflect light? And what doesn't reflect light? The whole reasoning behind the no reflection had been that 'humans were God's reflections' and because vampires were tainted beasts fallen from the hands of God, they didn't have a reflection for themself. Or something like that, way too biblical for my tastes anyways.  Well, whatever. Vampire or not, he had done a pretty awful job of trying to straighten up his shirt. Like, extremely awful.  
"Would you, just maybe, want to borrow a shirt?" I asked him as he was trying to fix his bed head.  
"You wouldn't mind lending me one?" he asked, giving me a look from the corner of his eye. I shook my head  and walked to my closet.  
"Any preferences? I'm pretty sure my dress shirt won't fit you because it's slim fit even on me and you're a tad more toned than I am."  
"I'm okay with any. Is it possible to borrow a comb?"  
"There's one in the toilet. Walk out of the door and it's the only other door on this floor."  
"Thank you", he said and made his way out of the room as I went through my shirts, trying to find one that would fit him. I don't know why I liked shirts with such a skinny fit, but they wouldn't make do. Then I remembered that I owned that one peculiar shirt. I couldn't help the smirk that rose to my lips.  
  
When Marco came back he looked freshened, his hair neatly parted and his eyes somewhat clearer. I guess he washed the fogginess out of them.  
"I found you a shirt", I said and he nodded thankfully.  
"Thank you, Jean", he said and started unbuttoning his shirt. In a weird way, it was extremely sexual. Oh come on, who am I lying to. Of course it feels somewhat sexual when someone is unbuttoning their shirt in front of you in your tiny ass bedroom. Especially when the person is hot. And currently pulling their shirt off.  
"Here", I muttered, looking anywhere but him to cool my nerves and handed out the shirt for him. He folded his and settled it on the corner of my table before taking the shirt from my hands.  
  
He really did have great abs. Happy trail. Chest hair. All that shit. That much I could tell from my half a second look from the corner of my eye before I caught myself oggling. I looked up to his face, just his face, and saw that he was quirking his eyebrows at the shirt before pulling it on.  
"I'm not sure if I want to know why you have a shirt that calls you a colossal bitch, but I will ask anyway: why?"  
"It's kind of a group joke. We saw a similar shirt on this webpage with my friends and decided to make ones ourselves. And by 'make' I mean that Jäger had fun and he designed it and we sent them to be printed. Now all of us have these."  
"Yours has a horse on it", Marco noted matter-of-factly, jabbing at the shape next to the text.  
"You think that I am not aware of that?"  
"What about the others?" he asked, clearly interested as he followed the letters' outlines with his fingers.  
"Mikasa's got a kangaroo because she kicks ass in kickboxing, Armin's got a dog because he's clever, loyal and cute and Jäger has a donkey because he's hardworking and all that shit. Oh, and Annie has an unicorn on her own because she's kind of special snowflake of the group."  
"Annie?" Marco looked surprised. "Don't tell me you mean Annie Leonhart?"  
"Yes? You know her?" if he was surprised, so was I.  
"Yes. I guess we... are somewhat friends. She hasn't mentioned you. Though she is really quiet and keeps her life to herself so I am not surprised."  
"She's Armin's girlfriend, you know?"  
"She is?"  
"Yeah. She is. I don't get along with her, but I... stand her presence. We just don't talk to each other."  
"Maybe something has happened to her and Armin then", Marco hummed thoughtfully. "She has been very quiet the last week and she hasn't smiled."  
"She smiles when Armin's not around? News flash to me. Anyway, the trio's off to Marine school so she can't see Armin for a while."  
"Ah... I wish she had told us", Marco muttered and stretched. "Could have helped her somehow."  
"How close friends are you?" Not to mention, who is this 'us' you are talking of?  
"Huh? We are flatmates."  
  
I'm seriously glad I wasn't holding anything because I am sure I would have dropped it.  
"You live together with her?"  
"Yes, and Reiner Braun and Bertolt Hoover. Why?"  
  
Because I didn't think that vampires could have flatmates, because isn't hiding all the vampire stuff a bit hard?  
  
"I'm just surprised."  
"It's not like we share bedrooms or anything", Marco shrugged, clearly not aware of why I was confused by the news. "Or well, Reiner and Bertolt do. We have a big flat with three bedrooms, and we share the kitchen, living room et cetera. We even have separate locks to our own rooms so it's quite a nice and private way to live."  
And it would make it easier for you to hide your vampire stuff.  
"I see. But. Breakfast?"  
"Breakfast", he replied with a somwhat determinded nod. Let the show start, then. We walked downstairs, Marco following behind me and fidgeting with his belt loops. He was nervous, alright, that much was clear. Nervous but somehow determinded to face the mission in front of him. If eating can be called that.  
"Oh the prince is awake. Good morning, pray do tell me: does someone as bony as he even make a good pillow?" mum asked as he saw us. I rolled my eyes.  
"Erm, good morning Mrs Kirstein. Thank you for asking, your son made a very good pillow."  
"Wrong answer Marco. Now she's gonna get excited", I muttered and shoved my elbow to his side. He didn't even wince.  
"Glad to hear so. Sit down, please", she said and pointed to the two chairs next to each other. The one on the other side already had food on a plate before it. Right.  
"What would you want to eat, Marco? We have toast, oranges and rye porridge."  
"Could I get toast?" Marco answered, giving the porridge a suspicious stare.  
"Sure. Is margarine and cheese okay for the toppings?"  
"Can I get it with only cheese?"  
"Can do. What about you Jean?"  
"Porridge. What are you going to drink? We have milk, sour milk, apple juice and water. Tea, too."  
"What kind of tea?"  
"Mum, do we have tea without caffeine?"  
"Yes. We have a caffeine free raspberry one."  
"Then I would rather take water, my apologies. Can I help somehow?"  
"No no, you are the visitor, just sit down."  
  
I  filled Marco a glass of water and filled mine with orange juice and as I got back to my place and offered Marco his water, a cup of coffee had already appeared in front of my plate. Mum knew me. It didn't take her long to give out our plates.  
"Eat up, boys", mum urged as she set down her own plate.  
"Thank you for the food", Marco said, smiling. He was sitting on the left, I was on the right and mum positioned herself somewhat in between our placements on the opposite side.  
"So, Jean here said that you were running away from trouble last night?" she started, locking her eyes with Marco's darker ones.  
"Mum."  
"It's okay, Jean, I don't mind", Marco reassured. "Yes, we met with the men who beat Jean up the other day. I told them to go away but they didn't really like the idea. So we ran."  
"To our home?"  
"Yes. It was closer than mine, and the first idea on my mind was to get Jean safe."  
"That's very admirable of you. And you just ended up staying the night?"  
"I accidentally fell asleep. We were talking with Jean and next thing I know is that he's waking me up."  
"I see. Why was my son shirtless?" Marco raised his eyebrows at that. Was he really dense enough to need all these questions before he truly understood what kind of questioining this was?  
"Because he took off his shirt to wipe his sweat with it?" he answered after a few beats, his eyebrows still up high and his eyes traveling from hers to mine and back to hers, awaiting for her long drawn out reply. She broke into a smile.  
"Correct. Congratulations, you have passed my half hearted cross-examination. Never be afraid to tell me if you do end up as a couple though", she said and sipped the rest of her coffee. I barely resisted the urge to roll my eyes at her and opted for sighing instead.  
"Do you have the day off?" I asked, pointing at her with my spoon while trying to keep a watch on how Marco took a hesitating bite out of his toast.  
"Nope, but I only start at twelve. So, lazy morning", she shrugged and smiled. "So you get to enjoy me to the fullest."  
"I see", I muttered, shaking my head. Enjoy, my ass. There was much to be said of her sense of enjoyment if she really thought that I was enjoying her company right now.  
"I'm going to go read the news now", she then informed, standing up. "Eat up and clean after yourself, boys."  
"Will do", I replied and hushed her off.  
  
She left the kitchen accompanied by small chuckles that I decided to ignore for the sake of my sanity, leaving me to empty my bowl of porridge. It took Marco as long to finish a single piece of toast than it took for me too finish my bowlful.  
"Not good at eating in the mornings?" I questioned him.  
"Not good at eating at all", he sighed and drank what was left of his water. "Where do I put these?"  
"Oh, I can take them", I said, since I still have some pride as a host. I took his plate and mug and carried them to the sink. I could sense Marco following me and staying somewhere behind me as I started washing the dishes.  
   
It was after a while of silence when he spoke up.  
"Jean." His voice sounded weird, and as I turned around to look at him, I could see that he was gripping the edge of the kitchen counter and his skin looked pretty much paper white. His eyes were watery and locked to mine, but he seemed to have trouble keeping them open.  
"Woah! Are you okay, man?" I had time to say before he sank down to his kneew from his shaking legs.  
"Levi. Medicine", was all that he said before his eyes dropped closed and he slumped to the floor.  
"Mum!" I shouted as I hurried to kneel down next to him. I quickly made sure he didn't hurt himself falling down, even though it was probably needless because he didn't exactly fall from up high. He was unconscious, his forehead damp with sweat and uncomfortably warm to my touch. As mum's hurried steps reached the kitchen, I rose my eyes to meet her gaze.  
"Mum, quickly - get Levi Ackerman. The man next door. Tell him that Marco needs his medication."  
  
She didn't question me, just simply nodded and walked out of the kitchen with a pace that would make any race walker jealous. I didn't have time to pay attention to it, thought - I had my eyes glued to Marco, running all the first aid I had ever learned through my mind. I knew I should help him into side position so that he could breath easier, so I pulled his leg up until it was bent up on the knee. Then I used it to pull him to his side, using it and his shoulder as my help. I positioned his left hand under his head, hoping to make it a bit better for him that way. I really, really should have paid more attention in those lessons so I could calm down the gnawing suspicion that I was doing something very, very wrong. At least I remembered to tilt his chin upwards, which was when I remembered that I should check that his mouth was free of anything that could trouble his breathing. I assure you that it's surprisingly unnerving to get your hands into someone's face and open their mouth even if they are unconcious, you know. My fingers were shaking as I leaned closer to open his mouth. I knew this wasn't the moment to think about, hell, he was unconcious and possibly in danger, but maybe, just maybe, he'd have visible vampire teeth...  
  
Just as I managed to lay my fingers to his lips, the front door flew open with a bang and fast steps approached the kitchen. I retreated my hands from Marco's face just before Levi Ackerman stormed into the kitchen and kneeled next to me.  
"How long ago did he faint?" he asked, finding Marco's hand to his, seemingly checking his pulse.  
"It couldn't be more than few minutes, I sent mum to get you immediately, sir", I replied immediately. He looked content with my reply, loosening his fingers from Marco's wrist.  
"Good. Has he eaten anything?" he then asked, leaning closer to have a look at Marco's face. I decided to risk it.  
"Why so?" I asked and I really shouldn't have, because the tiny man whipped his head to my direction and barked the next words straight to my face.  
"HAS HE EATEN, BRAT?"  
"YES! A toast!" I answered, raising my hands to shield myself. Levi muttered something under his breath and pulled out a small bottle filled with the same capsules that I had seen before. He looked at me and I just stared at him dumbly.  
"Are you going to help by keeping his head up or do I have to go for the whole kissing the sleeping princess thing?" he asked. I hurried next to Marco's head and together we propped him into a position where Levi could force his unconcious body to swallow the pills.  
  
I felt like I was lost in a haze. One of Levi's first questions had been if he had eaten. He had been really aggressive about that.  
Had I caused this?  
  
"That should do it. Please carry him somewhere dark to rest - he has a tendency of getting migraines after fainting", Levi commanded once he was finished with giving Marco a third, and apparently last, of the pills.  
"That's it? He doesn't have to go to the hospital or anything?"  
"That's what I said, brat. Listen - whatever he has told you about his condition, I know he hasn't told you everything. It's worse than it seems, and he should never, ever eat anything before taking his medication. I do not understand what made him eat something today. He knows he shouldn't play with fire."  
  
Oh. So I did cause this.  
  
I didn't say a word as Levi lifted Marco to my hands. I gotta say, the man was a lot stronger than his looks gave off, though, because - sorry darling - Marco's not the smallest pixie in the city. He helped me out of the kitchen, but after that I was on my own, carrying him up into my room. It was the darkest place we had in the house after all - or well, besides the toilet, and that wouldn't make a good resting place. I was glad that mum was somewhere - I really didn't know where exactly, but somewhere that was not here because she would never have let me carry him alone. The journey up the stairs was less horrible than it could have been, but it was probably because I was too shut inside my own thoughts to realise the tiredness of my arms. I was oblivious to everything but keeping Marco's head from bumping into the wall and setting one foot forward at time. Somehow I managed to carry him all th way into my bed without any damage on either of us and I carefully tucked him under the blankets, making sure that he was positioned so that he could breathe freely. I realised that I should probably get him a glass of water, just in case it might be of help for him once he wakes up. I didn't make it past that doorframe on the mission of getting that water, though. You see, our stairs are useful because you can see all the way down to the lobby and front door from them. Therefore, I couldn't help noticing my mum standing at our door, talking to that big, blond man with only one arm. Erwin Smith was his name, I think. His hand was on her shoulder and she was smiling at him, but her face incredibly sad. The same that she pulled off in front of dad's grave when we were together and she didn't want to cry - she never cried in front of me, no matter how much she wanted and how I knew that when she visited his grave alone she came home with puffed, red rimmed eyes.  
  
I couldn't make out what she was talking about with Mr Smith, not from this distance. So when Mr Ackerman walked to meet them and said something to her, I didn't understand why she started crying. Even less I understood why she hugged him and why he hugged her back. Mr Smith kept his hand on her back and they seemed to be talking to each other in hushed tones, all their faces settled into somewhat solemn expressions as my mum pulled back from the hug.  
  
I didn't stay longer to look at the scene, tho,  because at that point Marco let out a groan that sounded somewhat awake. I walked back to the side of the bed to see him struggling to open his eyes.  
"Hi Marco, how are you feeling?" I asked as he tried to focus his eyes at me for the second time this morning.  
"Hi. I fainted?" he croaked, trying to pull his mouth into a smile, but he was still clearly too groggy to manage to do it and the smile looked more like a grimace.  
"You sure did", I informed him, carefully sitting at the edge of the bed. Marco hummed silently and closed his eyes.  
"Is... Levi..."  
"Downstairs. Should I get him?"  
"No... I'm okay", he replied and shook his head just a tiny bit.  
"Are you okay?" I asked. He didn't look okay.  
"Well, I will be", he replied, opening his eyes and smiling weakly. At least it looked more like an actual smile now.  
"I'm sorry", I said, lowering my gaze. "I really am."  
"Why?" His voice was so confused that it was hard to understand. I met with his gaze and there was no blame on it and I couldn't wrap my head around it.  
"For forcing you to eat, obviously. For causing this to you", I said, motioning towards him laying on my bed. "For always causing you trouble."  
"Jean, it's not your fault. I knew the risk of eating without my medication. I never told you. So you..." he needed a moment to breath. "Couldn't know. Levi told you?"  
"He said that it's more serious than you let on."  
"He's so dramatic, I swear. It's not that bad."  
  
I laughed weakly at that. We changed a few words more until he got too groggy to really make sense anymore, so I stayed with him in silence until he fell asleep, looking over him to be sure that he was okay and kept on breathing, traveling somewhere deep in thoughts of self blame.  
  
No matter vampire or not, I hated causing pain to others and I had done nothing but that for Marco.  
  
I really despised myself for that. I really, really did.


	5. How old are you?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Instant coffee sucks and Jean's an asshole.

I wasn't exactly a great person to start with, but I was pretty sure that I had just slumped under all the possible definitions of 'asshole'. I mean, who the fuck steals meds from a sick person?  
  
I, apparently, do.  
  
I mean... It was almost too easy. The way he was sleeping in my bed, buried under the duvets that were slowly raising up and down with his breathing. Levi had given me a small jar filled with Marco's meds - "Make sure he takes two when he wakes up", he told me as he pressed the bottle to my hand. It was an order, and I knew it - I was tempted to give him a salute when he left, but I didn't. I was left with the job of taking the pills to Marco and generally taking care off him. Levi had told me to let him sleep as much as he would. So that's what I did. While I snatched two of his pills (because the Ackerman looked like the kind of man who never gives out uneven amount of something - and in the case that he actually did, taking two would leave the amount similarly uneven) and hid them to a small box in my closet. In a small box that was inside another box that also was inside another box. Wrapped in a plastic bag. Under a pile of my underwear. You can never be too cautious with vampires, I guess.  
  
He woke up sometime before midnight, battling his eyes open and I didn't let him speak before he took his pills. He laughed silently and asked if he could still stay to sleep through the night. I agreed and he asked me where I would sleep. "Sofa", I said and would have done so if he hadn't protested that the thing was barely long enough for two people to sit on it - anything but long enough for a man to sleep on it.  So I ended up sleeping by his side for the second time. The morning after, as I pried my eyes open he was gone. I wasn't exactly surprised, I guess. He probably didn't want to lay in my bed for two days in row. I understood it quite well. He'd be asked to eat more food. This way he also managed to slip out before I could ask more questions. Also leaving before the sunrise is probably a good idea if you are a vampire. However, I didn't bother to roll off my bed and decided to sleep in instead. I could, so why not? I had been sleep deprived lately anyways. So I slept.  
  
I woke up around five in the afternoon. As I walked downstairs, I found a note from mum informing about dinner in the fridge and that she'd probably stay late at work today. It wasn't that new - she worked for the state, something to do with dealing with creating ids for babies and handling the name register and they were a little understaffed. By little I mean monstrously, so she usually took one long evening shift each week.  I fished my meal out of the fridge - pasta with smoked salmon on creamy sauce. The microwave's clock told me that it was 9 th of May, Friday. It was raining slightly. The water had dotted the kitchen window, showing me a grey and foggy view. The fog outside was so thick that I couldn't even make out the Trost Bridge that was right by our home. It could normally be seen from both mine and the kitchen window since our apartment complex was right next to the road to it, but today the air was heavy with the whiteness and splashing rain. I should have been thankful, I guess, since I had been hating the hot weather all spring. It wasn't supposed to be as hot as it had been in May, even less in April, but the spring and summer had both came early. But at that moment I just sighed at the scene, thinking of how muddy the streets would get.  
  
You see, Trost wasn't as big as you probably had imagined it to be. It was a harbouring city for sure, yes, and we even had an actual centre with few cafes and a small shopping mall. But the city was so small that it was easy to drive past it - first there would be just trees, then a bridge and then more trees. Many passed by the bridge on the other side never realising that we even existed. Only one, small train came here and a big part of our population used it to get to work to the closest bigger city.  So yeah, we lived in a two storey apartment house but it was anything but big. Ten separate flats, that's it. The road in front of our house hadn't seen asphalt for ages. That stuff was a thing only in the small, but tightly populated centre of Trost. I don't know how we came to have such a problem with homeless people - I don't want to sound rude, but I guess it might have been partly because we were a port city. Who knows. Well anyways, sometimes when bigger shipments arrived it felt like the population of the city would increase by a quarter. Probably not, but it was true that we got some tourists on those 'see the seaside' cruises. Trost had a long history as a harbour city and the ships back in the old days had brought over some plants that didn't otherwise exist in our country. Now they were growing wildly in the numerous islands by Trost's sea shore. Next to that we weren't that special but I guess tourists loved the old town and the general way Trost was built with narrow serpentine roads and more stairs that was probably legal. Honestly a lot of the houses needed renewing and were starting to slip to worse condition than they should but no one seemed to care enough to fix them. That's Trost for you.  
  
And here I am, making grumpy faces at the window, drinking shitty instant coffee and spawning out vile words under my breath. Amazingly enough, neither mum or me had yet managed to buy ourselves actual coffee so we ran on the instant. I needed caffeine to kick my system on and the instant was doing a poor job on that. Especially since we had ran out of milk, which was fucking fantastic by the way, and no I was not sulking over Marco sneaking out in middle of the night without a note. I was not. It was just troublesome, not having a set meeting time. I now lacked the means of finding him - I mean, I could go to the coffee shop and the bakery, but did he always get his stuff from the same place? Or did like, bakeries and shit have a rotation order for when they gave out shit for free or something? Was I overthinking everything?  
  
Luckily the beautiful beep of the microwave saved me for more thinking and delicious scents filled the room as I popped the door open. Dorky as I am, in my mind nothing beats mum's cooking, thanks and goodbye. I sat down and dug through my combined breakfast, lunch and dinner. In case you thought so, no, I hadn't forgotten the pills hidden under the pile of my boxers. I would just rather eat before throwing myself into research... or into despair in the case that Marco had noticed my snatch and retrieved the pills back to himself before leaving the house. I'd rather eat a box of rotting dicks than have that happen. Whatever the reality, I was sure it was for the best that I ate now that I still somewhat had the will on me to stomach anything.  
  
If you want me to be honest here, I think I was a bit scared. Hesitant. Once I had eaten I proceeded to scrub my dishes spotless, hands deep in the hot water, staring at the bubbles as if it they could tell me the secrets of the universe. I was scared of what I would find. Scared of not finding anything.  
  
What would I do if I was wrong? Finding out that his medication is really for his blood pressure, that he really is an innocent human boy, fitting image to his polite laugh and beaming smile? That he really was just a sick uni student who gave out his time and energy to help others, to give out coffee to the stinking homeless on the streets, learning their names and backgrounds. Smiling. Giving a piece of his happiness to each and everyone who seemed to need it, his selflessness so great is was almost a fault. If I had blamed an innocent man?  
  
What if I was right? How would I handle it? Knowing that I had shared a bed with a vampire, having his arms wrapped around me. Knowing that I had made it out of that without a scratch. Knowing that something - someone, whose whole existance was an abomination had saved me. Knowing that I had laughed with someone whose kind kills my kind, made fun of him and have him make fun of me back. How many times would he have wished to bite me? What if I was really right and I had been so all the time?  
  
I was scared of knowledge. I was scared of loosing my picture of him. Human or vampire, it didn't change all the things he had done. Human Marco would still have wrapped his arms around me while he was asleep. Vampire Marco would still have helped out that stranger. It was simple, it was. But still I was scared. I didn't trust myself. I knew I couldn't look in the mirror and say "it doesn't matter" because I knew. I knew it would be a big, blatant fat lie that I wouldn't be able to chew around. Because it did matter. It did matter to me whether his heart still beat or not, whether he drank blood or not. It mattered more than I wanted it to matter because Marco was Marco. Somewhere along the line, I had started thinking of him as a great guy. A guy I'd definitely want to spend time with. I had started to see him as someone I wanted to be friends with. I guess that I just wished I wasn't food in his eyes. I didn't want him to kill me.  
  
Nevertheless, I needed to know. So I rinsed my plate and fork before putting them to the dish draining closet and walked upstairs with heaviness on my mind.  There aren't really words to express the nervousness I experienced at the moment I forced myself to open that closet door, but I can easily say that the moment when my hand met with the plastic a big, big weight rolled off my heart. I carefully took out the boxes and carried them to my table, starting my laptop as I settled down. I typed down the password and made sure it connected to the wireless before opening the boxes and carefully taking out one of the pills.  
  
The capsule wasn't the  smallest that I had seen. Pretty much normal sized, I guess, in the bigger end of it. I had thought that it was black-red, but with closer look the black turned out to be just a very dark shade of brown. I rolled the pill between my fingers. I couldn't see any numbers or letters printed on it, which was making my life a bit harder. When I shook it, I couldn't hear anything so I guess it wasn't the kind of pill that had those small grains inside of it. I sighed and googled "red-brown pill". Google offered me a pill identifier netsite and I carefully typed down the info I could give: the pill having no identification number, it's shape and it colours. But no matter what combination of red and brown I chose, there were no pills that it could identify. I pulled up a new tab and made a picture search for 'blood pressure medication'. None of the pills, not even the capsule ones looked like the one on my hand. Adding capsule to the search didn't help at all, so I removed it. But the deeper I duck in, the more confused I came to be. All the articles and medication I found seemed to be for lowering one's blood pressure, not for getting it higher. So I changed my search to 'medication for low blood pressure'. Thank you for suggesting that search to me, google. Sadly most of the images turned into pictures of food. Coffee, too. I read a few articles on the issue and it didn't seem like medication was that normal. None mentioned needing medication before eating. Most of them just suggested things like drinking a lot of water, drinking coffee, adding chicken and beans to your regular meals, soy too. Even dark chocolate was recommended. Natural curing methods seemed to be the top trend.  
  
It was getting sketchier. I hmm'd at the screen and rolled the capsule on the table with my fingertip. That's when I got the idea that maybe finding out what was inside the pill would help me forward. Maybe I could make better searches with it - I mean, it seemed that there were pills (mostly natural), just not the kind that Marco ate. It might be that he lied. That the pills are for the eating thing, not for the low blood pressure. Maybe it really was something more serious, like Mr Ackerman had said. I didn't know. So I decided to find out.  
  
I pulled out one of the drawers and found my stanley knife after a bit of digging. I silently thanked myself for bringing all my school supplies home for the break - saved me the trouble of going downstairs to get something sharp enough. I didn't just want to pull the pill apart - I mean, I didn't want to end up inhaling its insides in case it was very fine powder or something. I pulled out a clean, empty sheet of paper and settled it under the pill. With a deep breath I carefully pushed my knife into the brown end of the pill and cut into it.  
  
I hadn't expected the liquid that spilled out from the cut. I pulled out my knife and stared at that liquid stuck on the blade. I slowly brought it down to the paper and swept a side of the blade clean on it. The stain it left behind was something I had seen before and I didn't have to try to pick up the familiar scent of iron.  
  
I settled the knife down and raised my shaking hand to cover my face. It wasn't just my hands that were shaking - it was my whole body.  
"Breathe", I muttered to myself and forced myself to keep my breathing calm. Lack of oxygen wouldn't help me at all. But it was hard.  
"Makes fucking sense", I laughed and it came out all wrong and broken. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't think. Only what I said out loud seemed to make sense to me. I kicked myself up the best I could with my shaking legs and threw another sheet of paper atop the pill to cover it up. I took the few needed steps to the left and threw myself onto the bed, not wanting to think, not wanting to walk. I couldn't think. The information was overwhelming me, drenching all the energy out of me. Fortunately, for once, sleep came to me. I wasn't ready to face what had just went down. No, not yet. So I pushed it away with the beautiful gift of slumber, hiding myself from the truth and the world that had just turned itself around.  
  
You see, someone once said 'sleeping is the human equivalent of turning off and on an electric device that has ceased to work'. I think that person must be a genius, to be honest. Because at least in my case it was completely true. That's why the sleepless nights are the worst - they leave you alone in the dark with your thoughts, alone with yourself and your drained mind that just needs to shut down for a while. You all should feel sorry for the insomniacs. They are dragged down by these thoughts, from day to night and to the following day or days, without a break. When you cry yourself to sleep, there's someone out there who's crying too but just can't fall into the merciful unconsciousness. Insomniacs,  they are like bugging phones, touch screens that refuses to understand your touch and select all the wrong letters when you try to write down a message. They are like an overheated computer, unable to load websites anymore. They are working on loaned energy, overtime, and they can't handle it any longer. Not unless they manage to shut down for a while, to cool down. To restart.  
  
So I was thankful for my sleep. Thanks to it, I knew what I needed to do when I opened my eyes, hours of dreamless sleep later. Checking the clock told me that I could still make it. I jumped into my shorts and the first t-shirt that found it's way to my hand. It was yellow, with black print in the front but I can't remember what the print was about. Just some boring text I guess. It didn't matter. I snatched the remaining capsule from my table and pocketed it. I probably wouldn't have cared nor noticed if I had thrown my clothes on upside down as I raced down the stairs and barely remembered to grab my keys before pulling on my shoes and making my way out the front door.  
  
I ran across the streets, eyeing the time. There was less than an hour to the sunrise. I didn't know if Marco would be on the move this early on Saturday- or, I guess, maybe it was late Friday for someone like him. But I wanted to find him, now. Before my resolve ran out. I didn't want to wait until tomorrow. I didn't want to wait until the evening. So I ran across the streets, through the routes we had taken, searching for him. It took a while, but in the end I did find him, a few streets down from the coffee shop where he got those coffees from.  
"Marco!" I shouted. He turned towards me, looking surprised, clad in black trousers and a white, short sleeved button up. He looked tired, dark circles under his eyes, his skin pale and somewhat greyish.  
"Jean! I'm sorry, I don't have time to speak to you right now. I have to get going, I have a meeting and I am already running late", he said with a smile and waved his hand as he turned away. I looked at his back for a few seconds before I managed to find the courage in me to speak.  
  
"Wait!" I said and ran after him, stopping only as I was beside him. My palms were sweating as I pressed my fingers against them to prevent my hands from shaking. It was now or never.  
"What is it, Jean? As I said,  I have to get going", Marco said, looking slightly uncomfortable. So would I be if I was a vampire and I knew the clock was ticking half an hour away from the sunrise.  
"You sure are hiding a lot for someone with such a kind face, Marco", I laughed. It came out a bit shaken and awkward, but I think I could have done worse.  
"What do you mean?" he asked, his face calm and unreadable, but he couldn't prevent the twitch on his fingers. There was water stuck on his fringe, looking like small glass pearls. It seemed that he had been out before the downpour had ceased.  
"Don't play dumb. You know what I mean", I said, picking up the capsule I had on my pocket; pinching it between my thumb and middle finger. Marco studied it with a calm expression.  
"So you did pinch my pills, huh", he said, his fingers raising to rest against his chin. "I see. I wanted to trust you and thought that Levi made a counting mistake but no. It was you."  
"It was me, yeah", I agreed, pushing the capsule carefully back to my pocket. "Do you want to explain yourself or should I make presumptions based on what I have seen?"  
"I have nothing to explain."  
"I think you have a lot to explain."  
"Well, if something in me or my medication doesn't tickle your pickle in the right way, then ask. I can't read your mind", he sighed, crossing his arms and leaning to the wall next to us, his face turned away from me.  
"Well... um", I started, suddenly nervous, looking at his shoes instead of his face. I had no idea how to start, so I stupidly went for the first thing that crossed my mind:  
"Marco how old are you?"  
"I am twenty-two", Marco declared, turning around to grin at me with an expecting face. I didn't exactly know how to continue. Slowly his face fell and he looked disappointed.  
"Hasn't any of your girlfriends ever made you watch that creepy sparkly-vampires movie?"  
"N-no?" I answered, completely thrown off by way he had reacted to what I had said. I didn't understand what was going on at all.  
"Ah", he breathed out, "What a disappointment! I kind of wanted to do it once in my life."  
"Do what?"  
"You know what, Jean?" he murmured and was suddenly so much closer in my personal place, cold, shaky breath caressing my cheeks. "I do believe that we need to meet up for a movie date. Call me."  
  
With that I felt his hand traveling its way up my arse, his finger softly sliding across my cargo covered butt cheek before reaching my back pocket, slipping his thin and delicate fingers inside, leaving something in it. His body was pressed so close to mine, my face basically buried into his chest, our breaths ending in our chests colliding and I wanted to say something, I wanted to move and I wanted to touch him.  But as I started to reach my hand to do so, he slid his fingers out of my pocket, stepping backwards.  
"Goodnight, Jean Kirstein", he whispered and I stood there, too stunned to move as he stepped past me and disappeared into the night.


	6. Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the time for the two of them to face the truth.

The 16 th of May of the year I got to know Marco is a day that I remember very clearly. A day that I doubt I could ever forget about.  
  
That day... It's something we joke about a lot, me and Marco. Something we bring up now and then. We laugh a lot about, about how awkward we were. How we tried to play so cool while tiptoeing around what both of us really wanted and needed to say. How we both were so utterly scared during it all. Of how stupid we were.  
  
It was the first time I ever visited Marco's flat. Back then, if someone had told me two months beforehand that I would be standing on the doorstep of a vampire's home on that day I would have laughed and made fun of them. When I actually ended up there I did feel more like crying than laughing to be honest. Not very punk rock of me, but hey come on. Try being cool and punk in that situation kid, I dare you. If ya got it alright in the head, you would be scared. It has a lot to do with the survival instinct that humans happen to have. So there I was, shaking, in the door to my possible death. Poor twenty years old me with bony ass and hairy legs had never been as scared before in his tiny little life.  
  
How I got there, you ask? I guess that I, once again, need to explain everything from the start.

***

Five years earlier,  
16 th of May,  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
As I opened the front door, it took me about half a second to regret all my life choices that had lead to this moment as I saw his freckled face in front of me. He looked tired, black rings adorning his eyes and his outfit was unkempt, just jeans and a rumpled band shirt with aviators that were currently sitting atop his head. He slammed his hand to the door and stepped forward, preventing me from closing the door. His eyes were set on mine, his mouth a thin, straight line. It was nine days after my dad's third death anniversary, which I was very aware of. I was feeling sorry for mum since I thought that she would very soon have to deal with two death anniversaries in the same month, based on the look on Marco's face.  
  
"You didn't call me", he said in a voice that lingered in the air barely louder than a whisper. "So I came to get you."  
Needless to say, I hadn't even thought about calling him. I was not to blame though. Or would you have called a vampire who left a business card in your back pocket? Actually, I don't care. I really don't care whether you would do it or not. I had just ended up laying in bed trying to renew my picture of the world. So, vampires were real, huh? I mean, well, I did try to think it over along the lines of 'he could just be human taking blood pills' but that would have just been worse. I'd rather take Marco the vampire than Hannibal the Marcopal. Better death in the hands of the supernatural than in the hands of your fellow human peers who really, really shouldn't be eating you. Cannibalism was such a huge turn off for me. Is. Still is. Will forever be.  
  
"I... see..." I managed to answer, the lump of fear in my throat choking me.  
"Is your mum at home?" he asked, studying the apartment behind me.  
"No. She's at work, night shift."  
"That's perfect. Do you want to leave her a note before we leave?"  
"Who said that I am going anywhere?"  
"Do you honestly think that you have much other possibilities?" he asked, his friendly face a contradiction to the cold, cold tone he used.  
"I will text her later then, I guess", I muttered as I reached backwards to snatch my keys. "Do I need to break into the bank on our way that she can afford my funeral?"  
"There will be no funeral for you", Marco sighed and stepped back so I could get past him in the doorway.  
"You positive?"  
"Positive. Unless you jump under a car or something. I am not going to murder you."  
"I am not sure if I should believe you."  
"You should, I am a trustworthy man", he chuckled. I bit down my words of whether he should call himself a man or not. He hadn't exactly issued the situation (more like his tactic to get out of the whole talking part seemed to be getting way too close and throw my thoughts off the rail by touching me),  much less admitted that he really was a vampire. It's hard to negotiate with a person about things they refuse to address. Really fucking annoying most of the time, too.  
  
We walked down the street in silence. I didn't question him as he led me towards the port again - it had seemed that he knew western Trost like the insides of his own pockets so I had guessed that he had spent a lot of time down there. We walked on Saddle Street for a while (the one with Mr Ackerman's bakery in case you had forgotten) before turning to this small, smudgy looking street that took us even closer to the shore, to the oldest parts of city. I could literally hear the wash of waves against the rocks before he stepped into the doorway of this white, worn out building with stony corners that seemed to lack one straight line in it. He opened the door and let me into a small entryway with three doors in it. There was barely space for us to stand there without touching when he closed the door after us - I didn't want to imagine what would happen if someone opened one of the doors while we were there.  
"That's Annie's room", he said and pointed to the door on my left as he made his best of passing me politely. "It's basically like a huge closet under the stairs plus a small toilet. She shares kitchen, living room and bathrooms with us."  
"I see. Whose door is that one?" I asked and pointed at the door opposite of Annie's.  
"Oh, it's neighbours. We are taking this one", he said as he battled with opening the last door. It opened up to reveal a dark stairway.  
"I am extremely sorry to inform you that the light switch is not right by the door so please step in and stay in one place before I turn on the lights", he said and I complied, carefully stepping into the dark stairway that became even darker as Marco closed and locked the door behind us. The stairs were wider and all that told me that he had stepped past me was the moving air touching my arms before the light switched on. Marco was standing few a steps above me, smiling.  
"So, welcome to the castle or how ever it was", he laughed and beckoned me to follow him up the dark, wooden stairs. Light was a wonderful thing for letting me see these things. "Please leave your shoes there", he said as we reached the second floor, pointing towards a pile of shoes.    
"That on the left is our living room", he continued and gestured towards a closed pair of doors as he kicked his shoes off. "The doors right in the front take you into the dining room, kitchen, bathroom and Reiner and Bertolt's room. If you look to your back, the closer door is a mix for a cleaning closet and a washing  machine and the door a bit further down is toilet door. Okay. The door by the stairs takes you to the balcony and from there you can go down the other stairs to this small area where we have trashcans. We are going to the third floor by the way."  
"Okay", I mumbled and followed him to the next flight of the stairs. They were a bit steeper than the stairs before and had a turn in the middle. They took us to the small landing with one door. Marco unlocked and let me in first.  
  
I was lost at what to say at first. I had arrived into a spacey room that was clearly a bedroom but just a big one. His bed was on the left end of the room, close by a small balcony door that was open and revealed a beautiful view of colourful roofs and the sea behind them. The room had big bookshelves around the wall on my side and three small windows on the other. The floor was bit higher for maybe a few meters in the area where the ceiling was lower and there was a pile of big pillows by them and a sofa in the opposite corner from his bed accompanied by a tv table.    
"Sorry for the mess", Marco laughed. Only things that seemed to be 'out of the place' were a few pencils on the floor.  
"Dunn mind", I muttered. I was still afraid to really speak, as if it could throw Marco off balance. Like, make him all berserk to kill me.  
"The door close to the sofa is to my bathroom and you can't see it from here, but there's another door on the other side of this bookshelf", he said and patted the bookshelf on his side. "That one takes you to my small workroom and room for storing and my clothes and stuff. It's very narrow and the ceiling is low so it's not a very useful room, though."  
"Your flat is huge", I said and I sounded only slightly choked up. A little bit like a bride saying yes to her husband, good job me.  
"It kind of is", Marco laughed and walked across the room. "Fancy a lemonade?"  
"Sure", I replied and he told me to look around the room while he disappeared into that work room that he had mentioned, coming back soon with a delicious looking bottle of something labeled as 'Victorian lemonade'.  
"So. I was serious about the movie thing. This house is not the warmest one out here, so do you want a duvet or something?"  
"Erm, I think I will be fine without."  
"Okay, just don't hesitate to ask for one if you get cold. Go make yourself comfortable on the sofa, I will get the movie ready. There's a bowl of chocolate popcorn on the side table so I recommend that you take that side."  
"Sure. What movie are we watching?" I asked as I flopped down to the green sofa. It was soft and I felt myself relaxing immediately.  
"Uh", Marco laughed and scratched his neck. "I made a reference out of it to you the last time we saw."  
"Wait... creepy sparkly vampires?" Even I could hear the suspense in my own voice. Marco nodded.  
"Yeah. That exactly. I hate the movie just so you know but that one part is genius. If you ignore all the fucked up stuff that's supposed to be sexy going on and just concentrate on the words."  
"...what is it called?"  
"Twilight."  
  
What I experienced after Marco set up the DVD player and sat down to the sofa next to me was 122 minutes of my life that I would rather erase from my mind if I could. Only good point in the whole movie seemed to be mocking the characters, the amount of eye fucking and commenting on the creepy relationship. Marco was more than ready to listen to my ranting and only shushed me up at one point of the movie, the forest scene and I kind of understood why. Marco giggled the whole way through the scenes where the voice effect for the vampire's sparkling skin was used and told me that he didn't understand the point of the effect since we, well, could very clearly see the sparkling. But overall the experience was mostly painful and I couldn't stop wishing for the damn movie to end already. So the credits finally rolling on the screen was almost orgasmic. Just as I sighed out of relief Marco turned on the couch, bending his body towards mine.  
"Just as a note - we do not fucking shine okay?" he deadpanned, eyes suddenly glued to mine as his expression hardened into an unreadable one.  
"U-us...", I stumbled, shocked at the sudden turn in his attitude. "So you mean...?"  
"Say it", he commanded, eyebrows twitching a bit.  
"Wha.. no dude, you aren't serious" I scowled as the realisation hit me. He had to be fucking kidding me. Sadly he wasn't.  
"I really am. Just play along", he said, batting his absurdly nice eyelashes girlishly at me. I sighed.  
  
"Marco... how old are you?" I asked with the flattest voice I could produce,  earning myself a hit to bicep from Marco.  
"I am twenty two", he answered and I had to squint for few seconds before I remembered the line.  
"How long have you been twenty two?"  
"A while", Marco breathed out, dramatically dropping his voice down an octave.  I should have remembered that that line didn't end up in any real answer in the movie, either, but it didn't prevent me from feeling pissed. If he wanted to play this came, I'd do my best to follow. I dropped my legs down from the couch and leaned a bit closer to Marco.  
"I know what you are." I could see his brow arching up and a small, smug smile spreading over his lips.  
"Say it", he demanded, with much less fuckable voice than the guy in the movie. "Out loud. Say it." The whole eagerness-over-sexiness thing in his voice and gestures was probably a good thing, seeing what I have planned answering. I leaned even closer, until there was barely ten centimetres between our noses, letting my eyes travel around his freckled cheeks and stop at his lips. I smirked and slowly slid a bit to his side, to whisper into his ear like he had done to me before.  
  
"A fucking tease", I hushed and planted a small kiss on his cheek as I felt him tensing up before pulling back and ensuring a safe, platonic distance between us before continuing.  
"A fucking tampon sucking tease."  
He blinked at me blankly several times before a disgruntled expression flowed over his face. "That's dead blood, Jean. I can't drink that."  
"So you are a vampire?"  
"Yes, Jean, I am and your vampire education sucks", he shot while shaking his head and running a hand through his short hair. "Thinking that I'd drink dead blood, how disgraceful."  
"But you do drink blood."  
"Yes. B- is the most delicious brand if you ask me. Smokers' blood is yucky. Once tasted someone's blood who had blood cancer and was sick for weeks. You are pale, Jean. Do you need to lay down?"  
"I-I'm fine."  
"Are you sure?"  
"Yeah. I mean... I kind of knew already, based on everything but it's just... a bit... overwhelming to get you to confirm it."  
"Oh, this might make it worse but let me show you", he laughed and made a very, very grumpy face before opening his mouth to a full smile. "Here. I wasn't kidding, I have the teeth and all."  
"FUCK", I gasped and literally jumped backwards. Marco smiled somewhat sadly and closed his mouth, his teeth hidden again as he next opened it.  
"Sorry for startling you, but wanted to make sure that you won't start thinking that this is some kind of a sick joke."  
"Thank you, I guess."  
  
We stared at each other in silence for a few passing moments, the couch suddenly feeling all that smaller than before.  
"Does..." Marco started, having to stop to clear his mouth before continuing, his gaze downcast to somewhere in my feet. "Does it bother you?"  
"Of course it does. I mean, I am not going to get over the fact that you drink my kind's blood and kill humans in few minutes."  
"I have never killed anyone, Jean."  
"What?"  
"I have never killed a human being. Most of the blood that I drink is donated. Getting bitten by a vampire won't kill you or turn you, either. Drinking straight from living humans is prohibited if its not absolutely necessary and even then you need to control the amount of blood that you take. But getting killed by a vampire is a rare, rare thing these days."  
"Donated blood? Do you snatch it from blood banks or something?"  
"No, it's more complicated than that and I am not exactly comfortable with sharing the details with you."  
"Oh. I am sorry."  
"So will you tell someone?"  
"Excuse me?"  
"Will you tell someone that Marco Bott is a vampire that needs to be killed?" he asked with a wavering voice. "Do you think that I need to be killed?"  
"Wha- first of all, no one would probably believe me even if I did so..."  
"You didn't answer my question."  
"You never answer mine."  
  
Marco didn't answer that. He pulled his legs up and locked his arms around them.  
"You know what, Marco, I think the word 'spidermonkey' fits you."  
"Jean..."  
"Is it even funky being a vampire, since you are not allowed to play with your food at all?"  
Marco groaned and leaned his forehead to his knees. "Why did I let you watch this movie?"  
"Because you wanted to act cool and steal the guys lines? Be all sparkly and stuff for the day?"  
"Jean, are you trying to cheer me up?"  
"What if I am?"  
"I'd be glad", he hummed and turned his face towards me. "I want to be your friend."  
"You want to be best buddies with a human? Like forbidden friendship or something like that?"  
"Well, I didn't say anything about being best buddies but yes. I'd like to be forbidden friends with you. Though the stigma isn't so bad anymore, I mean I get along with Annie and she is pretty much as human as a person can get."  
"Does she know that you are a vampire?"  
"Everyone rooming with me knows. They don't care."  
"That must be nice."  
"I guess so. Annie keeps her pads and stuff in a box that says 'vampire teabags' and I still don't know whether I am amused or hurt by it."  
"Dark humor gets you there alright."  
"Mmm'm. I am sorry to say this Jean but I am really tired. Would it be horrible to ask you to leave now after dragging you all the way here?"  
"It's fine. I kind of need... time to think, too", I answered, suddenly realising how tired and empty I felt.  
"Will you know your way back if I stay behind and go to sleep, well, now?"  
"I will."  
"Good, I will take you to the front door", he smiled and stood up, stretching. "Here", he said and offered his hand to me. I carefully took it and let him help pull me up.  
"Thank you", he whispered with a smile as he let go of my hand. I wasn't sure if he thanked me for what I had said, for taking his hand or something completely different but I didn't ask. I didn't want to.  
  
We walked quietly downstairs and I put on my shoes while Marco took my empty lemonade bottle to the kitchen. Then he walked me down the stairs and opened the doors for me - they were that old kind where you need a key to lock or unlock it from both of the sides. I walked down the few steps on the doorway and turned back to look at him.  
"You won't make me carry pepper spray?"  
"No, but I probably really should since you like getting in trouble and all", Marco chuckled. We smiled at each other.  
"Good night, Jean Kirstein", he  said and leaned forward to pull me into a one armed hug that ended with my face completely buried in his chest thanks to our height difference and the fact that he was standing a few steps higher than I. It weirdly felt like a repeat of our last departure before I felt his breath on my hair. "This time, please text me when you are ready to face me, Jean", he said before pulling off, doing a small waving motion with his hand and mouthing the word 'bye' as he pulled the door closed right in front of me.  
  
I could swear that his lips had slightly caressed my hair.  
  
I found it unsettling how unbothered I was by the idea.  



	7. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Are they any support groups for people who accidentally befriended vampires? Because I have a lot of questions that I need answers for. Seriously.

Five years earlier,  
18 th of May,  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
How long does it usually take for one to become ready to face someone, after finding out they are a vampire?  
Is it suitable to volunteer to give blood to your new vampire buddy if he's in need or is this deemed unconventional or even rude?  
Are there jokes that one should stay away from?  
Is taking photos of your vampire friend okay? Selfies with them?  
How are you supposed to act if you walk in your friend feeding? Do you leave the area or act like it was completely normal? Are vampires okay with being seen feeding?  
What about you eating? Is it okay to eat in front of your undead friends or does it make them nauseous?  
Can you ask them to go to parties with you? To grab a drink at the bar?  
What about casual touching? Do we burn them with our body heat? Seriously, do we hurt them with our body heat?  
Is there a book about how to casually act around a vampire because I really, really need it?  
  
I buried my head deep into my pillow and sighed. It was three days since my last meeting with Marco and I couldn't stop thinking of what ifs. Everything was swirling around in my head, unsure of how to process the information I had been given.  
  
Who the fuck even becomes friends with vampires?  
Crazy people. Crazy people do.  
Good thing I never though of myself as someone exactly sane.  
  
But seriously, why don't vampire movies teach you anything actually important?  
Probably because you are not supposed to, you know, become friends with immortal beasts?  
I am not helping myself with this thinking, am I?  
  
I rolled of my bed and hit the floor accompanied with a thump and a groan. I hoped that laying on the cold wooden floor would make me feel better but no, the world wasn't that nice. It never was. All I got was an aching hipbone and cold shivers running down my spine. Not then. Fuckers.

***

Five years earlier,  
17 th of May,  
Western Trost; home  
  
"Spit it out Marco, what's wrong?"  
I dropped the pencil I had been doodling with and raised my eyes to meet with Reiner's, just to find out that all three of my flatmates were staring at me with worried expressions.  
"W-what do you mean wrong?" I laughed awkwardly as I picked up the pen. "Everything is perfectly fine."  
"Does it have something to do with why you asked us all to be away yesterday?" Well, could you just be a little less intelligent about these things, Annie, because you are currently being a huge pain in the ass.  
"Bingo", Reiner whistled.  
"You can tell us what happened, Marco", Bertolt said sweetly, smiling shyly at me from across the table.  
"Nothing happened", I mumbled and tried to shrug it off. Naturally it didn't work.  
"Marco, I have never seen you looking so worried in my life. Hell, I have rarely ever seen anyone looking as worried as you do right now. So it must be something."  
"As I said, it's nothing, seriously -"  
"Did your date fail?"  
"It wasn't a date!" I snapped back, regretting it immediately afterwards as I saw Reiner's smirk.  
"So what was it?" Annie asked calmly as she reached past me for the butter. "If it wasn't a date, why did we need to be away? Who did you invite over?"  
  
I stared at my roommates and it was agonizingly clear that they wouldn't let me out of my misery before I explained what was going on.  
"I hate you guys", I sighed and drew a circle beside all the others on the Post-it note that I had been doodling on earlier. "You should just leave me alone with this."  
"Nah, we love you and care about you so we will bug you about it until you give up."  
"Thanks Reiner, I realised that."  
Everyone waited quietly for me to continue.  
"It's Jean. I asked Jean to come over."  
"Jean?" Bertolt asked. "The guy who has been stalking you?"  
"Yes, him."  
"Why would you ask him over?" Reiner asked, his eyebrows high up on his forehead. Before I had time to answer, Annie butted in.  
"You don't mean Jean Kirstein, do you?" she asked, her brows furrowed down. Bertolt and Reiner snapped their eyes to her.  
"Kirstein? Like Madam Kirstein?" Reiner yelped. Bertolt looked pale.  
"I don't know who Madam Kirstein is, but yes, his surname is Kirstein. He said that he knows you Annie."  
"Yes, he's a friend of a friend. I don't know who Madam Kirstein is either, tho", she continued and looked at Bertolt questioningly.  
"It doesn't matter, they are probably unrelated anyways", Reiner said and coughed, covering for his boyfriend. "So. You asked this Jean over. Why?"  
"Because he realised that I am a vampire."  
  
A deep silence settled into the room.  
  
"Excuse me?" Reiner finally managed to spit out.  
"He realised that I am a vampire. Hell, he even dug out for proof until he found some", I grimaced. "So I asked him over to make sure he won't talk."  
"Pardon my distrust, Marco, but did he leave the house alive?" Bertolt asked, trying to steady his shaking hands by pressing them together. Reiner slowly pressed his fingers on top of the other man's.  
"He did leave very alive. Startled, but alive, I think."  
"You think?"  
"I didn't walk him any longer than the door because I was too shaken myself", I shrugged and tried to ignore Annie's pointed look.  
"What did he say?" she asked, her breakfast long forgotten. "When you confronted him about it?"  
"I asked him if he's going to tell someone that, ugh, that I am a vampire that needs to be killed -"  
"Pretty melodramatic."  
"- shut up Annie, and I uh... he uh... said he wouldn't and that even if he did no-one would believe him."  
"He's wrong about that", Reiner hummed, still rubbing calming circles to the back of Bertolt's hand. "A lot of people here do know."  
"But those people work with us, Reiner", Bertolt sighed and looked at his boyfriend silently. They were a cute couple for two maxi sized dudes in my opinion.  
"What will you do about him Marco? You can't leave him hanging now, you know that much." Oh Annie, always at the point of things.  
"He's a good guy. I am going to keep him, as a friend."  
  
The silence was even deeper this time. Reiner and Bertolt changed a meaningful look.  
  
"Marco, listen -"  
"I know he will die while I won't", I spat out. "I know that I am a vampire. I haven't forgotten in case you thought that I have."  
"I am worried about you", Bertolt said, his voice strong and unwavering this time.  
"Then stop worrying."  
"I can't do that."  
"Well you should!" I snapped back and slammed my hand down to the table. "I am not the same Marco I was two years back. I can handle having a friend. I can handle loss, so butt the fuck off my business", I snarled and stood up. "I am done with breakfast, thank you very much."  
  
Of course the little Marco known as my emphatetic spirit decided that that wasn't exactly a nice thing to say and that I had no right to snap at Bertl like that. Especially when I knew that he was right.  
  
Marco Bott was not alright.  
  
Marco Bott could not handle loss.  
  
Even less could Marco Bott handle having friends and maintaining healthy relationships.  
  
In other words, I sucked.  
  
That wasn't a fucking pun, just that you know. Fucker.

 

***

Five years earlier,  
20th of May,  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
Four days is not enough time to process that someone is a vampire, but it was long enough to make me miss the company of a friend. Especially while I knew that tomorrow ought to be one more depressing and harsh day in my life.  
  
So I dialled Marco's number. It took him a nervewreckingly long to answer and I almost hung up when he did.  
"Marco Bott on the phone, who am I talking to?"  
"H-hey Marco."  
"Jean!" his voice became warmer. "What a surprise! How have you been?"  
"Uh, stressed out mostly", I muttered and adjusted the phone between my shoulder and ear so that I could lift some heavy books back to the bookshelf. "How about you?"  
"Stressed cuts it for me, too", he answered with a tired laughter. "Why'd you call?"  
"Oh, I am sorry I should have texted you."  
"No no, it's not a problem!" Marco hurried to say. "I mean, what's the reason behind your call? Is everything allright?"  
"It's... not but I didn't call because of that", I sighed and rubbed my forehead.  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
"No, not really. But a friend's company would be great now", I managed to mutter and I felt my cheeks flaring up. "If that's okay with you, that's it."  
"Of course it's okay, Jean. Do you want me to come over or would you rather stay on the phone?"  
"Isn't today your coffee run day?" I asked carefully.  
"It's only seven now, it's fine. I don't have to be at the shop before eleven and if nothing else I can ask one of my flatmates to do the run for me."  
"They do it, too?"  
"Sometimes. Annie's quite popular with the homeless."  
"I can't imagine why."  
"She has a surprisingly soft side to her when it comes to the homeless, but I didn't tell you this. She'd have my head. O-oh hey Annie. No no, nothing... do you want to take my coffee run today? Okay, thanks!"  
"...she took it?"  
"She took it. So should I come over?"  
"Uh, sure. Do you wa-" I cut off mid sentence, almost biting my tongue.  
"What?"  
"Nothing, nothing", I hurried to reassure and cursed myself in my mind. Who asks a vampire if they want something to eat?  
"Do you want me to bring anything over?"  
"Eh?"  
"Do you have food?" Marco asked kindly with a hint of laughter on his voice. "I don't want to come to visit empty handed. Anything that you need?"  
"U-uh... coffee?"  
Maro broke into a boisterous laughter.  
"Sure, I will come with coffee!" he laughed borderline hysterically. "Do you mind if I hang up now and arrive there soonish?"  
"Wait, can you walk out when it's still this sunny-"  
"I wouldn't say I'd be coming if I couldn't. So are you okay if I hang up now?"  
"S-sure?"  
"Okay, see you soon!" he said cheerfully and hung up immediately after. I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it for a while.  
  
Okay. That was interesting. I phoned a vampire and he's coming over. With coffee.  
Right.  
What the hell has your life became, Jean Kirstein?

***

Five years earlier,  
20th of May,  
Western trost  
  
Sure I had said that I was fine with walking to Jean's flat when the sun was still up and shining, but honestly it was bit of so-so. Sure I could do it, especially when I dressed up in a long sleeved shirt and wore sunglasses but it still wasn't the most comfortable thing on Earth. Tolerable, but uncomfortable.  
  
If I had to be honest with myself, I knew I offered to leave so quickly to get out from the flat before meeting Reiner and Bertolt. I still hadn't apologized to Bertl for my shouting three days back and it was draining the atmosphere. At least I felt like it, while others seemed to act quite normally. They didn't bring up Jean nor what happened - I knew I needed to do it myself. They were giving me the time I needed and it was gnawing my insides with a throbbing pain. They were being much better to me than I was being to them and I had a hard time dealing with that.  
  
So, soon I found myself making my way through the streets of old Trost thinking about what kind of coffee to get Jean. It would probably have been a good idea to ask what he wanted so I wouldn't have had to do that but it was too late for that. My head couldn't handle the sunshine and phonecalls at the same time. I got into my usual coffee shop to leave a note that Annie would be doing the run today and ordered Jean today's special: chili-mango latte. Better hope he wasn't allergic to any of the ingredients. Hadn't exactly asked.  
  
The walk to his home didn't take long, but the sun was hanging a bit lower as I reached Jean's home. The door opened before I even managed to ring the bell - Jean had probably seen me coming from the window. He looked tired - his eyes were puffy, his hair sticking up in weird angles and his skin seemed to have a slightly greyish tint. His t-shirt was a few sizes too big and it's cut neck was hanging loosely off his left shoulder. He stared quietly at the coffee cup at my hand.  
"It's for you", I offered and gave him the cup.  
"I... see. Thanks", he muttered and took the cup, looking weirdly surprised considering that he had asked for the coffee himself.  
  
I stepped in and followed him quietly to the small living room where Jean settled down to the sofa. I opted for the chair on the other side of the small table and looked worriedly over his distant look as he gulped down some of his coffee.  
"Hey Jean, do you want to talk about what's wrong?" I asked softly but the guy flinched at my voice anyways. His teeth grazed his lips and he slowly set his cup down before sighing and rising his gaze to meet mine.  
  
"My heart."


	8. A pulse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jean's heart is broken.

Back in the day I was still pretty green. I wasn't very good at being a vampire -  I probably still aren't, to be honest - and I wasn't very good at being a friend. I was still torn with my issues, my inability to accept my flaws and the self destructing way I tore myself down. I was never good enough, never brave enough, just never enough for myself so that I could believe that others could see anything in me.  
  
A lot of you probably know what I mean by that.  
  
So when, on that day, Jean opened up his heart to me I was baffled. Baffled by being trusted with something that I could hurt him with. Baffled that someone whom I wasn't just the kind stranger giving them coffee to wanted to tell me about their problems. Baffled that someone found it in them to believe that relying on me could be worth it.  
  
It's not that I wouldn't have been thankful.  
  
It was just that that I was really, really scared I would fuck it all up.  
  
\---  
5 years earlier,  
20 th of May,  
Eastern Trost; Jean's home  
  
  
"My heart."  
Two incredibly cliched words known for their place in romance movies - especially the ones with comedic taste. 'My heart is hurting' or 'it broke, because of you' or something similar. I stared at him, not quite sure what to say. His eyes, whereas sad and heavy, still didn't look like the ones of a heartbroken boy. He dropped his gaze again.  
"I didn't get dumped if that's what you are thinking of", he informed, letting out a small, tired puff of laughter that barely had time to escape his lips before dying. "I mean my heart in a bit more literal sense."  
"I am afraid that I don't understand what you mean, Jean", I confessed, feeling my brows pressing together. "Your heart is wrong, but in a more literal sense than heartbreak over being dumped. Can you explain what you mean?"  
"What more is there to explain."  
"I really don't -"  
"Marco, my heart is broken. It has a hole in it."  
Wait. What. Whatever I had been about to say quickly disappeared from my mind and all I could do was stare at him. I guess he sensed confusion, because he lifted the corner of his mouth into a small, sad smile before speaking again.  
"This, here, the little beating thing", he said and tapped his chest with his free hand, "It literally has a hole in it. I have a heart disease. Thought that you might be able to hear it with your super hearing or something."  
"I -" I started, but Jean was fast at speaking over me again.  
"Or is it not your hobby to listen to people's heartbeats?"  
  
Now that he mentioned it, was it? Didn't I always know it was he behind me based on the sounds he made, somehow aware of them being different from the surrounding ones. I could hear it even now, his heartbeat, his steady, steady heartbeat. But there was something off about it. It was like something that kept bothering you a little, something you kept seeing in the corner of your eye - something that always was there, close but slipping through your grasp. Something you were aware of but that you didn't have the means to understand. Like trying to solve math without knowing the correct formula for your calculations.  
"But you ran." It was all I managed to muster out.  
"With you? Yeah, I did. I can run a little now and then, it won't kill me. Probably."  
The way he  had almost slid down the wall once we were back at his room. How his hands were shaking and how frantic his heartbeat had been. The way he was way out of breath. I just thought that he had been scared. Scared enough to lose the power in his legs and to have his adrenaline running too wild.  
  
But it wasn't that.  
  
"Tomorrow", he suddenly said, "Is my check up time. I wasn't supposed to have one before November, but I have experienced chest pain. So they told me they need to take a heart film again."  
"You have had chest pain?" I asked and wanted to smack myself. Like he hadn't just said it.  
"Yeah", he sighed again, fingers drumming the lid of his coffee cup. "We thought that it was getting better. That I could go back to school in the fall like everything was normal. But it might not be the case."  
I thought my blood would freeze. My borrowed blood. Someone else's blood. The blood I fed myself to keep myself working, the blood that I burned off by simply existing. It felt like it had suddenly started dragging itself like it was syrup in my veins. Not being able to go to school?  
  
He could not be okay. He was so young.  
  
"ASD - atrium septum defect", Jean continued. "That's the name. Usually quite harmless, doesn't even need to be operated on a lot of the time. I wasn't that lucky, you see. I still am not being lucky. Actually the doctors are pretty baffled about what's wrong now. They say I shouldn't be having all these symptoms, that all of them don't even fit with my ASD diagnose. So who knows."  
"I... I am so-" I tried, grasping around for the right words like a drowning man grasps for land. I just didn't succeed.  
"Don't you fucking say that you are sorry", he groaned and buried his palms to his eyes. "It doesn't help. 'I am sorry' - those three words are like fucking cancer. So easy to say when someone tries to rely on you and then dump them with them. 'I am sorry' is so cold, so distant, so empty. The easiest words to betray."  
"Err... then..", I started, trying to array sense to my words. "Is there anything that I can do for you?"  
  
Jean moved his right hand just enough to peek at me from under it. I felt like a rabbit trapped in headlights, so to say.  
"You mean that?"  
"The best I know how to mean it."  
"I see."  
"Yeah."  
The air felt increasingly heavy, at least for me. I bit my teeth to my lower lip.  
"Dude", Jean gasped, taking his hands down from his face and staring at me. At my lips, to be more precise.  
"W-what?" I stammered, feeling the warmth creeping towards my cheeks. He slowly raised his hand to point at my, er, lips.  
"You are bleeding", he simply said while his face was somewhat torn between amused and terrified. I blinked a few times before raising my fingers to my lips. They met with a warm wetness.  
"Fuck", I swore as I brought my fingers before my eyes. "You weren't kidding", I muttered, looking at the glistening red.  
"I didn't know that you could bleed", he said, now clearly more on the amused side, leaning over the table to look closer at me. "That's so weird, god."  
"How do you think that I stay alive, I have blood circulation 'n shit. Pulse, even", I muttered, trying to hide my embarrassment in the snarling undertone. Didn't work too well, I guess, because Jean suddenly pulled my hand towards him and pressed two of his fingers to the inside of my wrist. I flared bright red at the sudden contact, no kidding.  
"Woah", he breathed out at the sensation. "You seriously have a pulse, what the hell dude."  
"Why... wouldn't I have one?" I questioned, raising my eyebrows at him. He raised his back at me.  
"But you are a vampire?" he answered, but the way his voice flared higher at the end beckoned that it was indeed a question.  
"Yeah?" I answered, keeping my eyes steady on his.  
"All the legends I read said you wouldn't have a pulse", he explained, searching my eyes. "So I am a little surprised, all right?"  
"Well I am not scared of garlic, either", I huffed and dropped my eyes, shaking my head a little.  
"You are not?"  
Oh sweetheart, you have no idea how bad your vampire education seems to be.  
"No. It's a vampire... trick?" I expounded with a huff.  
  
Jean looked even more baffled, still holding my hand. I think he forgot that he even was holding it.  
"What do you mean? A trick?"  
"Yeah. Uh... we were hunted back in the deep dark days of history when people still seriously believed in vampires, as you might know?" I started, waiting for his nod before I continued. "Well, you see. The vampires of the time needed a way of figuring out how they knew when people were hunting them. So they started spreading rumors about how vampires cannot stand garlic."  
"Seriously?" he asked.  
"Seriously", I verified.  
"But why garlic?"  
"Because it's easy to spot its scent from food or anything alike, and it's easy to recognize. It's also pretty easy on vampire stomachs, so we can eat anything with them or it without much trouble to prove our innocence," I laughed.  
"Why didn't you do it then?" Jean asked, his voice wavering slightly. "You could have easily fooled me by eating something with garlic."  
"I can't. I am unlucky enough to be sensitive with food", I sighed - that seemed to be tonight's theme, sighing that is - and ran my free hand through my hair. That seemed to remind Jean of his hands on mine and he carefully let go of it, leaving my skin hot where he touched it.  
"So that's possible? What is it like, vampire allergy thing?"  
"Something like that. All of us are allergic, or how to say it, to 'bad blood'. Blood of those who have an illness that changes their blood. I mean, anemia still goes but it tastes really, I don't know, thin?"  
"Anemia tastes thin?" Okay I knew it wasn't the best explanation, but I swear that he was just playing me based on the face that he was making.  
"Yeah. Like.. compare full fat milk to skim milk. Bad anemia is skim milk whereas normal blood is full fat."  
"I prefer skim milk tbh", Jean snorted and leaned his chin to his hand, carrying on annoyingly good 'I am cool and I know it' expression.  
"Just... imagine it, please. I don't have time to live with your sass now."  
"Ooh, scary, whatcha gonna do, fly away?" Jean asked, making some kind of wing motions with his hands. Idiot.  
"I can't change into a bat, either."  
"That's just plain boring."  
"It is, isn't it?" I agreed and leaned backwards, straightening my back. "So Jean. Do you want to talk more about what you said or perhaps do something to get your mind off it?"  
"Lets definitely not talk about it", Jean groaned and rubbed his face. "It kills the mood."  
"What mood?"  
"'Tease the Marco' mood."  
"Oh, I am the Marco now, not just your regular Marco. Should I worry?"  
"No, the the title comes with great freebies."  
"Freebies?" I questioned but Jean just smirked, jumped up to his feet and motioned me to follow him.  
  
I awkwardly followed Jean through the room in silence, until he beckoned me to sit down on the kitchen stools. I obeyed and followed his movements quietly.  
"Okay, Marco", he said and pulled open the fridge. "I have done some research-"  
"Uh oh."  
"-don't you uh oh me. As said, I have done some research and I want to ask you to tell me whether I am right or wrong."  
"Sure", I muttered, feeling slightly curious but also a little overwhelmed by the scents that were escaping past his fridge doors. "What do I need to do?"  
"You need to tell me whether you could or could not eat the things I am about to show you."  
"What?"  
"Do you have your pills with you?"  
"Y-yeah but-"  
"Good. You might want to take a few just in case?" Jean said and smiled as he closed his fridge with a pile of food in his hands. "Don't fear, some of it is just for me", he laughed as he saw my face. He dropped the stuff in front of me and turned to pull out a few tin cans from the cabinet next to him.  
"I am not sure that this is a good idea, Jean."  
"It's a brilliant idea, okay? If we get some results on this it's going to make your life tons easier."  
"How so?"  
"You will be able to stay the night or maybe even eat at restaurants. Imagine."  
"Who would I even go to a restaurant with?" I muttered, eyeing the pile of food in front of me.  
"Me", Jean simply answered as he sat down on the opposite side of the counter. "You can go to eat with me. Not to mention that unless your flat mates are also vampires - if they are then Armin is dating a vampire which is a slightly creepy idea - you will probably need new ones at some point and being able to eat something in front of them would make it easier for you to pass as a human. I mean, who knows, vampire hunting might become popular in the next two hundred years or so. Further more, on short term goals, you'd be able to stay over at my place without making my mum question your whole existence."  
  
I should probably have answered something, but I was completely overtaken by emotions. He has said 'me' like it had been the most natural thing in the world. He wanted to spend time with me. There was so much warmth filling me radiated by that one little word that I found myself unable to speak.  So I just reached for one of the cans and stared at the coconut water like it was something made in heaven. I popped it open and took the glass that Jean was pushing towards me, smiling as he reminded me to take my pills first and went on about how he had read somewhere about how coconut water could be used as emergency blood transfer feeling giddily like a small child.  
  
Raise your glasses and thank the world, the unthinkable has happened.  
Marco Bott has made a friend.


	9. Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blood. In pancakes. Just maybe dripping out of Jean, too.

Coconut water can legitimately be used as an emergency blood transfer, but apparently it did a poor job of substituting blood for a vampire.  
"It tastes vile", Marco informed after one sip with a disgusted face that much supported his words.  
"But do you feel sick?" I questioned, sipping my own glass of coconut water. It didn't taste that bad to me.  
"No, not at all. But it's horrible."  
"Well, it can be mixed into other things and that might make it taste better."  
"Maybe", Marco muttered but he sounded anything but convinced. "I gotta say, if coconut water turns out to be the one thing that I can eat I will be quite pissed."  
  
In case anyone is confused about what the hell is going on, here's a short recap of the situation: I, Jean Kirstein, am currently sitting in the teeny tiny kitchen of my house with my vampire buddy Marco, making him taste test foods that his oversensitive digestion might be able to handle with some luck. My normal, new everyday life everyone.  
"Well, you can drink caffeine free tea?" I offered, shrugging my shoulders and looking around the pile of food wondering what to offer him next.  
"Some of them. If it has licorice or ginger in it", Marco sighed and decided to make my life easier by picking up the Greek yoghurt to his hands. "Do you have like spoons and bowls or am I supposed to eat it with my hands out of this huge thing?" he asked and smiled cheekily at me.  
"Just a second prince, I will get you your spoon and bowl", I said and pulled the cupboard next to me open, pulling out two small Moomin bowls.  
"Spoons are on the second highest cupboard on your right", I continued and he took the hint, getting us both spoons and one bigger one for the yoghurt itself.  
"So tell me Marco, any special reason for choosing the yoghurt?" I asked while scooping out a fair amount of yoghurt for myself and some for Marco. He refused to take honey with his before replying.  
"We ate a lot of Greek cuisines at home since my grandmother - from mum's side - was Greek."  
"What about your dad? I mean, your surname doesn't sound Greek", I continued my inquiry. To my surprise, Marco's face darkened at that. The corner of his lip weighed down and the eyes under his burrowed brows looked anywhere but at me as he replied:  
"He's Belgian."  
"Ah, I see", I answered, feeling awkward as hell for not understanding what was going on. "Do you have siblings?"  
"Yeah, an older sister", he replied and sighed before catching a second spoonful of his yoghurt.  
"Do you miss your family?" I slipped, greatly wanting to punch myself immediately as the words left my mouth. I didn't expect the smirk that rose to Marco's face and it got chills running down my spine. The contradiction between the coldness of his voice and gaze combined with that crooked smile made me shiver as if a cold wind had kissed my neck.  
"No", he simply retorted. "I don't miss them at all."  
  
Somehow the way he said it made it clear that he meant each and every word from the bottom of his heart. He chuckled again before finally meeting my gaze.  
"What about you? You have a kind of uncommon name too", he said. "I have met your mother, but I do not know about your father and there were no male jackets but yours at the lobby. Are your parents separated?"  
"Err", I started, thrown aback by the question. "My dad died three years ago. We moved into this flat with mother last year because we felt that we didn't need a house as big as the one that we had."  
"Oh", Marco said and his face softened. "I am sorry for your loss."  
"It's fine, you didn't know", I reassured and sighed. "But on that note, dad's family is originally from Germany but he was born and bred in France. My mum is a local and apparently they met when dad was in one of the seaside cruises that stopped here twenty and some odd years ago."  
"That's like out of a romance novel", Marco remarked and smiled. "Also, I think I can stand Greek yoghurt. What next?"  
  
I looked over the foods I still had on the table.  
"I am not sure, but based on the toast from the other day you can't eat  dairy or wheat... wait, you just ate yoghurt so I guess you can't stand wheat, then", I muttered. Marco nodded. "What about oats? I have heard that some coealics can eat oats."  
"Jean", Marco stopped me and raised his hand. "I'd like to remind you that I am a vampire, not a sufferer of coealic disease."  
"I know, I know!" I exclaimed as I tried to fight the heat rising to my cheeks. "It's just, I just thought that you might share some alikeness or something."  
"Don't sweat it. I have to ask - what are you basing your guesses on what I can and cannot eat on?"  
"I picked up things recommend for people with queasy stomachs, mostly", I admitted. "And the coconut water was just from an article that told about it being used to replace blood if nothing else was at hand."  
"Not a bad way to pick up things", Marco hummed and looked thoughtful. It suddenly reminded me of something.  
"Marco, have you ever had blood pancakes?"  
"What?" Marco replied, looking utterly confused. "Blood pancakes?"  
"Yeah. Like, thin salty pancakes made out of blood?" I explained, motioning round shapes with my fingers.  
"No, never", he said and shook his head. "I have never even heard of them."  
"Would you want to try some? Mum made some yesterday, they are pretty great."  
"If you don't mind me asking, what blood are they made out of..?" he questioned, looking slightly worried.  
"Cow's. It's basically cow's blood, onions, eggs, beer, oil,  few spices and traditionally rye flour, but she used corn flour this time just to try it out. Those and just like salt and pepper." Marco's brows seemed to travel higher and higher up as my explanation got longer. It was quite a hilarious look on him to be honest.  
"It sounds interesting", he admitted and shrugged. "I could try it, but in that case I don't want to try anything else before it because I already feel kind of weird."  
"Weird?" I felt the worry immediately wash over me. Last time I have seen Marco eating it had, as you know, ended up quite catastrophically and I didn't know how effective his weird blood medication was.  
"Kind of like how you feel when you eat even when you are full? But not really at the same time", Marco wondered and smiled meekly. "I guess it's to do with the fact that I don't need food anymore."  
"Might be", I agreed. It was slowly starting to sink in how different Marco's world was at the small things like this. I silently gathered the rest of the food into my arms and dumped them to their designated locations before pulling out a plate with the blood pancakes out. "How many do you want?" I asked and showed the plate to Marco. He eyed it carefully before showing two fingers accompanied with a worried sneer. I nodded and pulled aside those and three for myself and piled them on another microwave safe plate.  
  
"Okay, three minutes", I said after I had managed to start the microwave and pulled out another plate and settled it in front of him. "Could you please take out forks and knives?"  
"Oh, sure", Marco said, startling awake from his dream land. He was silent as he laid the cutlery to its place and walked across the kitchen to fill his glass with water. He stood in front of the tap waiting for the water to get cold when the microwave blinged. He gave it a look from the side of his eye and filled his cup as I carried the food to the table. Counter. Counter that we used as table.  
"Here", I simply said and dumped his portion onto his plate. "Don't stress if you can't eat them both. I can finish up for you."  
"Thanks", he muttered and looked at his food like it was a dangerous thing about to attack him. Now that I think of it, it kind of was. But I also realised that he was confused of how he was supposed to eat it.  
"Some people take them with butter on the top, some with lingorberries - usually lingorberrry jam or just crushed lingorberries with some sugar - and some just eat them with ketchup", I told him and shrugged. "I prefer them with lingorberries to be honest, but as we are out of them I ought to use butter. Do you want any?"  
"Maybe later", Marco mutters and kept up his staring contest with his plate. "I think it might not be a good idea to mix anything else into this. I mean, this already might not be a good idea but... yeah."  
"Well, if nothing else, you will be one experience richer again, right?"  
"Right", Marco gulped and cut out a small piece of his food, his hand shaking a little as he raised the fork to his lips and closed his lips around it. I maybe should not have stared so intensively but I did and there's no taking that back so, hey, enjoy the detail that he has a few scattered freckles on his pale pink lips. I just happened to notice it while waiting for his reaction.  
"It's good", Marco whispered maybe five seconds after he had gulped down the piece. "Holy hell it's really good."  
"It is, it is", I nodded along and smiled. "Feeling okay?"  
"I think so? I mean, it feels a bit heavy but not too badly. Definitely worth it." There were sparkles in his eyes, warmth in his voice and happiness in the way his face settled. It was nice to look at.  
"Have you realised that all the foods that we tried today were okay with you?" I asked, cutting up my own pancakes. "I'd call it one hell of a success."  
"Well, coconut water was still vile", Marco hummed. "But you were right. It was worth it."  
  
I was about to ask him where my thanks were as he turned his head to the side and stared to the direction of the lobby. Three seconds later I heard a key turning in the lock and the door being opened.  
"I'm home!" mum shouted, her voice clear and sound, so I guessed that she had had a good day.  
"Welcome, Marco's visiting!" I shouted back before looking at Marco and waving him to continue eating. He took the hint and started cutting up the next piece just before my mum walked into the kitchen.  
"Hello, Marco! It's lovely to see you again! Has my son been treating you well?"  
"Hello Mrs Kirstein. I have kept him in order."  
"What?" I barked as my mother and Marco exchanged a knowing gaze.  
"That's good", she replied, ignoring my side comment. Gee thanks. "I can see that you are eating. Are you okay, sweetheart? You gave us a fright last time."  
"I deeply apologize for that", Marco said and bowed his head. "I am fine with food as long as I have taken my medication beforehand. I thought I would be fine with so little, but it seemed that I wasn't. I am utterly sorry, I should have been more mature about this all and just told you straight on what was going on."  
"Well, there was no harm done so you don't need to apologize, young man", mum said and reached over to pat Marco's shoulder. Knowing my mum it was a pretty heavy slap but Marco didn't seem to mind.  
"How was work?" I asked before stuffing a big piece of the pancake to my mouth.  
"It was pretty nice! Maria is getting married and she gave me an invitation to her wedding - for you, too, actually", she laughed and fished a small envelope out of her pocket and gave it to me. I stared at the envelope and raised my brows.  
"Why is she inviting me? We saw each other once when I was, what, nine? That time you went to her place to a Tupperware meeting and dragged me with you."  
"Well, you must have left a lasting impression", mum shrugged. "Or then she just wants to see handsome young man in suits. You should join in, Marco. You could come as Jean's date."  
"Mum!" I groaned, but Marco just laughed.  
"I apologize, Mrs Kirstein, I think it's a bit too rude to pretend to be someone's date just to sneak into a wedding. I, also, rather like being safe from all the oggling."  
"That's a shame, a shame", mum theatrically sighed. "Well, enjoy your meal, boys. I will be in the living room."  
"Yes, great, go, the faster the better", I said, sighing just as dramatically as she did before winking at her. Mum just shook her head and walked out the kitchen without another word.  
  
It took me and Marco a few minutes to finish our plates. I sent him up to my room before me, telling him that I'd follow once I got the dishes done with. So I got into the work, washing our plates and cutlery. I still missed owning a washing machine a lot but to be honest, I was quite content with washing my dishes by hand. I liked the feeling of the warm water against my hands - how it wasn't really a pressure, but rather just a sensation. A comfortable, simple sensation. I adored that. The simple things in life that no one could take away from me. Warm water, soap bubbles that reflected flickering rainbows and the soft squelch of the water. The satisfaction once I got through all the dishes and could look at the empty and clean counter that was proof of me having done something. I guess I adored these small things that made me feel useful if nothing else. Wow Jean, that's pretty deep thinking.You should be proud. Or not.

I snorted and took a step backwards, ready to turn over to place the mug that I had just rinsed on the table, but it didn't really go as planned. What happened? I am not completely sure, but somehow mum had managed to walk behind me without me realising. So when I took that step, I bumped right into her, which caused me to loose my grip of the mug which fell to the floor and shattered into twenty something pieces. Which wouldn't have been much of a loss nor a big thing, if I hadn't managed to get my legs completely tangled with my mum's by this point, causing us both to fall. She fell back to her bum, safe and sound but I, as I always was the luckiest gal, fell side first and scratched my hand on the pieces. By 'scratched it' I mean that I managed to get a cut of four to six centimeters long on my arm. I swore as mum helped me up and turned to check my hand.  
  
"Okay. Is this all that got hurt?" she asked while ripping off some paper towels and handing them to me as I nodded. "It's bleeding quite a lot but it doesn't look like a deep cut. Does it hurt?"  
"Stings a little, yeah."  
"You were lucky that it wasn't on the inner arm but on the side. I think it doesn't look so bad that you'd need stitches- just some pressure, proper cleaning and dressing to the wound. But I guess you should show this to the med student upstairs and get the final judgement from him. Furthermore, I think most of the first aid stuff is in your room because you always manage with your little accidents."  
"I know, mum", I muttered, grimacing at the pain that was slowly creeping into my arm. "I should probably go and get this treated."  
"Wait a moment, I know we have some gauze here", she said and right she was. Two minutes afterwards I was send upstairs with a gauze covering my new bruise, held on place by few pieces of tape so I wouldn't have to hold onto it every second. I had tried to protest that I could continue washing the dishes once I got the wound treated but mum would hear none of it, telling me that it'd only happen over her dead body. So I didn't have much choices but to listen to her.  
  
I sighed as I pushed my door open and stepped in. Marco was sitting on my bed, looking quite disgruntled and lost in thought. I saw him lifting his head to register my presence just as I turned to lock the door.  
"'J-jean, you are hurt!" he exclaimed, jumping up from the bed. I shrugged, looking at the now red stained, thin gauze on my hand.  
"It's nothing serious,  I just had a little accident w- are you okay Marco?"  
  
Marco was staring at me with his mouth hanging slightly open, his face painted with fear and he took a step away from me. I stared at him before I understood what was going on. I was, indeed, a friend with a vampire now. That's a good thing to remember before you lock yourself bleeding into the same room alone with the said vampire.  
"Do you think that taking more blood pills would help you to deal?" I asked, standing in the place, looking at him. I could see the bit of his sharp fang pressing against his lip ever so lightly.  
 "I don't have more with me."  
"Should I get Mr Ackerman?" I offered, but Marco shook his head.  
"He's at the bakery. He's always in the bakery on Tuesday evenings."  
"Oh, that's... I can see your teeth."  
"Don't look!" Marco whined and backed even further away from me, lifting his hand to cover up his mouth. It got my thoughts rolling.  
"Wait, Marco..." I started, with the lingering scent of blood heavy in that room, weighing it down with's its sweetness.  
"Yeah?" he asked, still standing in his awkward pose at the other end of the room.  
"Does Mr. Ackerman know that you are a vampire?"  
"He does", Marco admitted with small shrug.  
"Is he perhaps-" I couldn't finish my question, but it wasn't hard to guess what I was after, based on the way Marco looked at me.  
"He's not a vampire", he simply retorted with a small shake of his head.  
"Oh", I breathed out, feeling awkward as hell. "If you don't mind me asking, why does he know about you then?"  
"He is... uh", Marco muttered. "One of our helpers. One of our... blood donators."  
"The blood system you mentioned before?"  
"Yes, exactly."  
"So you do take in donated blood."  
"Jean, I am sure you mean well", Marco wheezed through his fingers, "But could you please not talk about blood right now. I am having a bit of hard time, with your mum downstairs and all... I can't walk past her while hiding my mouth like this and pretend to leave for no reason. Your scent is already making it really hard to get rid of my teeth... wait, are you scared?"  
"No, why do you ask?" I replied, smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. Marco seemed absolutely baffled by my reaction.  
"But... your heart is beating faster, I don't... why are you smiling?"  
"I am excited."  
"Excited?"  
"Marco, you said that drinking blood out of a human won't turn them?"  
"That's correct but why are you- oh, oh no no no", he abstained, taking the last step that separated him from the wall, pressing himself flat against it and lifted his other hand to help cover his mouth. It was muffling his voice notably.  
"Why not?" I asked, taking a step towards him.  
"I couldn't", he said, shaking his head frantically. "I can't."  
"Why not?" I repeated, taking another step, pressing at my wound through the bloodied gauze, a sharp throb telling me that I had hit the goal. "I am offering."  
"I can't!" he exclaimed, his eyes flew open with horror. "I can't!"  
"But you can", I advertised as I ripped the gauze off with one shift flick of my hand and let it fall down to the floor as I took the next steps towards him, my aggression pushing him tighter against the wall while his senses were tearing him towards my wounds.  
"Jean", he whimpered as I took the next step.  
The next.  
The next.  
Just one more.  
He stretched out his hand as he turned his head to the side.  
"One step more and I won't be able to stop myself, Jean."  
I laid my injured hand atop his as I took that step.  
  
It was beautiful, so maddeningly beautiful.  
The way he whipped his gaze to me, his pupils blown huge and breath ragged. His hand entailed around my waist and pulled me against him while the other turned my injured hand so that the wound was on his side.  
  
A tender bend of the neck, the sound like knife being pulled against another and the gleam of those pearl white fangs.  
  
  
The pain,  
  
the heat  
  
and the teardrop falling down his freckled cheek.


	10. Caramel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He tasted like salty caramels coated in darkness, liquorice and salmiak dancing across my tongue as it touched his.

"There was blood on your lips as you said that you were sorry. Yet there was nothing that you needed to apologize for. I told you that much. But you didn't listen. You never listened back then, did you now?"  
"I didn't."  
"But now you do."  
"Now I do."

  
***

  
5 years earlier,  
20 th of May,  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
His hands were warm against my skin as he wrapped gauze around my arm.  Warmer than I had adjusted to his hands being, warmer than I'd have ever imagined them to be. Was it that my hand was cold from the loss of the blood or was it that his were warm from receiving it? I don't know.  
  
I sat there silently, looking at his inaudible working, closing up the wounds that were both his cause and the one that wasn't. He kept swiping his eyes and refusing to listen to me, so I didn't see a point in talking more. I was tired. So, so very tired.  
"You will need to sleep a lot", Marco said, his voice heavy and wavery. "To give your body energy to produce new blood."  
"I can do that", I complied. "Are you okay?"  
"It doesn't matter."  
"It matters to me." Marco didn't even lift his gaze.  
"Tarry the night", I said, tiredness seeping deep into my thoughts. He stayed silent, his eyes still downcast, but he nodded as he taped my new gauze onto its place. That was enough for me.  
  
Marco left the room to tell my mum that I was okay and that he'd stay the night. As he returned we didn't say a word as we stripped down to t-shirts and boxers, slipping underneath the covers on my narrow bed. When I realised that he was shaking, I turned around and wound my hands around him, holding him close. He softened in my hands, burying his face in my neck and letting the sobs rack through him. I was silent as I entwined my fingers in his black locks carefully, pressing him closer, holding him in my arms till I fell asleep.  
  
I saw dreams. I saw dreams of clouds, forest and water, and of a man who had freckled fingers and a voice that lingered on my skin like a soap that refused to wash off, breaking down my walls as easily as soap would the surface tension of water.

***

  
His voice was smoky and soft as he breathed his words onto my flesh:  
"Would you mind if I ran my fingers along the lines that your underwear has pressed into your silky smooth skin?"  
Yes, please do. Never could I have asked for more.  
His fingers had been smooth against my skin, smooth and cold, cold like ice. I had shivered when he left his fingers leaning against my hipbone, unable to control myself any longer and he knew it, he knew it as he pressed that hand over my eyes before leaning forward and locking our lips. He tasted like salty caramels coated in darkness, liquorice and salmiak dancing across my tongue as it touched his. He pulled at my lower lip and I could taste the iron of my blood but I didn't mind, I didn't mind at all. But he was crying, the taste of that salty rain overpowering all else.  
  
Then he leaned away and I was craving him, craving him with all that I had, but his voice was distant like a stranger's and his touch gone.  
"Jean... do you think that if water could talk, it'd tell us that we are almost completely made out of it and therefore committing cannibalism as we drink it?"  
"Why would you ask that?" I asked, trying to catch a look at him but all I could see was his hands. His hands, his hands everywhere I looked.  
"Just wondering", the man said and he hooked his fingers to my belt loops. Since when was I wearing trousers? They were black and smooth like silk against my skin but they looked official.  
"Come, Jean, it's your funeral. You can't miss it."  
  
My funeral? Mine?  
I looked down to see that I was wearing a suit, completely black combined with a black button up shirt and matching black shoes with the man in front of me. The hand that let loose of my belt loops to hold mine was clad in similar clothing, just with fingerless leather gloves. The leather scrunched as it tightened across his knuckles, stiff and so fresh that I could still smell the scent of it lingering in the air. The hand pulled me onwards, through the crowds of people dressed in black. I saw Jäger holding crying Mikasa and Armin in his arms, tears silently falling down his cheeks and his eyes passed by me as if I was just air. Me, and the hand pulling me. Maybe we were just air, I thought as we got closer to the white coffin, with its surroundings full of white and blue roses. Blue?  
"It's the colour of dignity and trust, whereas it also represents sky and waters. Your dad wanted you to wear it."  
My mum and dad were holding hands in front of the coffin, their free hands held tightly closed. We passed by them, me and that stranger, and they didn't even bat an eye, their eyes glued to the body inside of it.  
  
I looked peaceful, wrapped up in the bluest suit that I had ever seen, against the whitest covers that could be found. My face was calm but so so wrong - I never smiled when I was resting, never. But nevertheless, there was a smile plastered onto my features, almost as if I had been frozen in time in the middle of a good laugh. The hand let go of mine, to give me the freedom of movement. My eyes were heavy and watery as I crouched over the coffin, slowly and shakily lowering my fingers to touch my cold, cold skin, just to see my eyes opening up, and there were teeth, long sharp teeth against my lips and suddenly I was in the coffin, jumping up to bite my own neck where I still could hear my heart hammering. I sank my teeth onto that soft flesh, and it was warm, so warm against my ice.  
  
"Stop, Jean, you are killing me", a feminine voice whispered, its waves deeper, darker and colder than I could ever be. I froze as she stepped away from my grasp with her bleeding form, her eyes blue like ice looking straight into my soul.  
"You are a monster, Jean Kirstein", she said, lifting her bloodied hand to touch my cheek. "But never forget that if you are a monster, he's even more of a one", she continued, turning my head around, to look at the freckled hands just a bit away from mine.  
"He's not a monster", I choked up, feeling ice cubes sliding down my throat, suffocating me.  
"He is. After all", she said, suddenly so close to me, leaning to whisper in my ear, "what is colder than a vampire?"  
  
As I lifted up my eyes, the freckled hands were no longer in the sleeves of that suit. They were naked like the rest of his upper body, scattered with those freckles and scars that I had never seen before. Tens, hundreds of scars travelling up his skin, all the way up to his defined collarbones. His mouth was hanging barely open, sharp white fangs pressing against his lips, almost black drops of blood rolling down from where they had pierced his skin. Dead blood. Dead blood everywhere.  
  
As I met his eyes, they were dark, so dark even with the glittering tears halfway down his face and suddenly I knew what she had meant.  
  
Eyes like the bottoms of the oceans, clothes like petrified tar, breath like smoke on the wind and touch like cold coal of past flames. Death. Only death could be colder than a vampire. There it was standing, just waiting for me.  
  
And it was me who had invited him in.

***

  
As I woke up, I was covered in sweat with the blanket glued to my skin, with the shape of the long cold boy gone from my side. He appeared in front of me before I moved though, crouching down next to the bed and looking at me with warm eyes that were puffed out from crying. There was a small, tired smile on his lips.  
"Hey", I croaked and had to clear my throat before continuing. "Feeling any better?"  
"I should be asking you that", he sighed and heaved himself to sit on the edge of my bed. "I might have taken too much blood."  
"I don't think so", I yawned and pulled myself onto a sitting position. "I feel quite fine, just tired. By the way, you are not allowed to apologize anymore."  
"Jean."  
"No buts, Marco, only butts", I informed and slapped his arm weakly. He just stared at me silently before closing his eyes and shaking his head slightly. I guess he didn't appreciate my pun, then.  
"What time do you need to leave for your heart film?" he asked, reopening his eyes and locking them onto mine. "You have that today, right?"  
"Ah, yeah, my dear friend EKG", I muttered and yawned again. "Mum takes me there around ten, that's all. What's the time."  
"Seven twenty four", Marco informed after glancing at the clock behind me. "So there's no hurry for you, it seems."  
"But there's for you, isn't there?" I asked, trying to tame my bed head as I spoke.  
"Depends, I guess", he shrugged. There were dark circles under those puffy eyes and it got me wondering whether he had even slept or not. "I would rather not let you out of my sight but that's probably not possible."  
"Well, I can't take friends to the EKG room nor would I rather take you to the shower or the toilet, but otherwise feel free to do whatever", I shrugged. "I mean, you can stay behind here if you want and stay the next night if that helps you."  
"Helps me?" Marco asked, baffled. "But this is not about me?"  
"Isn't it?" I questioned, leaning forward to stare at him more intensively. "Isn't it about you calming your conscience by making sure that you left no lasting damage on me by that bite?"  
"No!" he exclaimed. "It's because I am really worried for you."  
"Why?"  
"Why?! Because I bit you, Jean!"  
"Yes, but is it a 'I bit you' worry or a general 'a vampire bit you worry'?"  
"Won't you let that go?"  
"No, I won't."  
  
Marco stared at me, breathing heavily before he huffed and raised his hands as a sign of giving up. "Okay. You win. Maybe I am worried that if I leave now, you won't see me again. That you will be halfway across the country by the time I come back. Is there a problem with that?"  
"Yes, actually, there are two", I said and lifted up my pointer and middle finger. "First", I continued, waving my pointer, "is that you tried to lie about it. The second", I said as I pressed down the pointer, now just giving him the international fuck you sign, "is that you don't trust me the slightest, so fuck you Marco Bott. Fuck you. I offer you my blood, I literally force it to you and you think that I'd hate you after you comply to my concussion? How far in your own ass is your head if you can turn this around to something like you forcing yourself on me which could cause me to hate you? Just... fuck you, just a little", I stopped and folded my middle finger. "Otherwise there's no problems, so it's your decision whether you want to stay or not."  
  
He stared at me and I stared back at him until he let his gaze down.  
"I will stay", he finally choked up. "I will stay."  
  
Once again there were teardrops in his eyes.  
  
I hated it.


	11. Forest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You remember those dreams you had?

"You remember those dreams you had?"  
"I do. I do."  
"So do I."  
"So do you?"  
"The way you looked each time you remembered those dreams. You were like a drowning child lost of lifeline, staring into the distance with eyes that had already given up hope."

***

Five years earlier,  
21 st of May,  
Southern Trost; Trost Hospital  
  
The fizzing noise of electrical gadgets was all the background noise I could hear besides the nurses breathing to my left.  
"Is this your first time in EKG?" she asked, coming closer with all her equipment.  
"Have you even read my file?" I sighed, and continued straight afterwards: " No, don't answer that, because you haven't. No, it's not my first time in EKG - more like twentieth. Just please slam those things onto me and take the heart film please. I know that I am supposed to lay down here shirtless until you are done."  
"I-I see", the nurse answered, a dusting of red on her cheeks. Maybe she was embarrassed. Too bad for you lady, I know my file screams at the start about all my heart examinations so if she didn't see that, she totally didn't read past my name.  
  
It was a bit cold, as always, as I was set up for the heart film. It didn't take long before I was ready to take off, the nurse carefully removing me from the machine. She stayed silent as I pulled on my shirt.  
"What happened to your hand?" she suddenly asked, her eyes still at the monitor.  
"Oh, I fell on glass shards. It's okay though, my friend checked it up for me."  
"That's good to hear", she replied in a soft, calm voice.  
"Yeah, I guess so", I shrugged and took my bag from the floor. "The doctor will contact me within a week like normally, right?"  
"She should", the nurse smiled at me. "And Jean, let me apologize. I know that it's no excuse to be neglecting what I should be doing in my job, but I got a call on my last break. Someone very close to me was suddenly hospitalized and I have been worrying my head off since."  
  
I could feel the embarrassment burning my cheeks this time. I looked at the woman and I realised that despite her tired features, she couldn't have graduated that long ago. She had strawberry blonde hair and soft, brown eyes.  
"I am sorry to hear about your acquaintance. I also need to apologize - I have had a few emotionally tiring days and I snapped at you. It's my fault", I muttered, playing with the hem of my shirt.  
"It's okay, Jean. I face a lot worse every day, you can still be easily listed as a nice patient", she laughed tiredly and wiped her shoulder length hair behind her ear.  
"What's your name?" I asked, and her face was surprised.  
"Petra Ral", she simply answered, holding my eyes with hers. I smiled.  
"It was nice meeting you, Petra Ral. I hope that your acquaintance will be okay soon."  
"Thank you. It was nice meeting you, too, Jean Kirstein."  
  
I walked out the door with a small wave of my hand that she answered, before greeting my mum as I closed the door behind me.  
"Mum, on your way to work after dropping me off, please stop by a flower shop and tell them to send a bouquet of... errr... hydrangeas to nurse Petra Ral here. Please."  
"Hydrangeas?" she asked, as she offered to take my bag from me, which I declined from. "To a nurse? What just happened?"  
"I am ashamed of what I said, that's what happened. So please send her flowers. Like hydrangeas or I don't know, those purple flowers that you like."  
"Hyacinths?"  
"Those, yeah."  
"How severe a 'I am sorry' is this?" she laughed as she started typing down the info on her phone. "I mean, how many flowers do I need to get her?"  
"I don't know. Pretty small bouquet, just something please. She had the balls to apologize for her mistake even though I was an ass to her so she deserves something."  
"You have gotten softer, Jean."  
"Ha? What do you mean?"  
"Nothing son, nothing", she smiled as we stepped into the elevator. "Will Marco be staying another night?"  
"Probably", I muttered as more people got into the lift. "Why so?"  
"No reason, just curious. I won't be home tonight as you know, so please keep the house in one piece."  
"Gee, as if we wouldn't."  
"Seeing how in pieces you have been since meeting him I wouldn't be surprised."  
  
I whipped my head to look at my mum who was wearing a blank face. She sighed at my bitch face.  
"Look, Jean, I am not saying that your new friend is a bad companion or anything. But think about how often you are hurt with him."  
"Mum, he has saved me more than once."  
"But how many of those times did he cause? How many did you end up hurt because you were with him, Jean?"  
"There's no point in this conversation, mum. He's far better of a person than I probably could ever be."  
"If that's how you believe, I will take your word", mum replied, lifting her hands to her 'I give up' pose. "I just worry for you, Jeanbo."  
"I am not five, mum."  
"No, but you are not old either."  
"And I know that I am sick and that it must worry you, especially because of what happened with dad, but I am not dad. I am me, mum, and I am not dying anytime soon I think."  
"So you say."  
"Spit it out, mum, what do you have against him?" I asked as we stepped out of the elevator. Mum took a few steps in silence before she answered.  
"His eyes."  
"His eyes?"  
"The way he looks at you."  
"The way he looks at me? What are you talking about, mum?"  
  
Mum sighed and rubbed her forehead. "He's staring at you way too much, Jean, and he has those burning eyes. He's polite, he's kind and he treated your wounds, that is true. But I don't like his eyes when he looks at you. He looks at you like he wants you."  
"He's my friend, mum."  
"Well, he might want something else out of you", mum stated and pushed open the glass door that led us out of the hospital. "Keep that in mind, please."  
"I thought that you would want us to be a couple and furthermore, I am sure he doesn't have feelings for me."  
"You are sure? Have you asked him?"  
"No?" I shrugged, feeling stupid for even being asked it. "It's not like there would have been any reason to do so."  
"Then how can you know?" she spat, making angry motions with her left arm. Calm down, woman.  
"I just know, mum. I just... he's worried for me, okay? You stare at me, too. He's worried because he knows about my heart."  
  
Mum stopped in her tracks. "You told him about your heart?"  
"I did. I mean, it felt fair and all since I know about his health issues whether he wanted it or not", I told and quirked my eyebrows at her.  
"You voluntarily told someone about your condition?" she asked again, her voice full of surprise or doubt, I wasn't sure which.  
"That's what I just said, wasn't it?" I replied, giving her an even harder 'wtf mum' face. It's a special face reserved for her.  
"Forgive me. I take it all back. Keep him. Definitely keep him", she stated with a smile. Oh if a stare could burn holes.  
"What the hell mum. Just what the hell."  
"Don't mind me", she chuckled and opened the car door for me. "Just keep him."  
  
That, my friends, is why I can never understand this woman. What the hell. Nevertheless, I stepped into the car and made myself comfortable on the worn out seat as mum made her way to her own seat. She pulled out of the parking lot in silence which carried on throughout the whole drive. It wasn't that long a drive, just fifteen minutes when the traffic was light, so soon I said my goodbyes to her on our front porch, waving a little as she drove off.  
  
I was just about to step inside when I heard rustling behind me and turned around like oiled lightning. To my surprise, it was just Marco coming from under our thick leafed tree.  
"Finally", he muttered as he patted pieces of grass out of his pants. "I was starting to get worried that you'd never come back."  
"What are you doing in the lawn?" I asked, my brows high up. Marco chuckled and carefully lifted his sunglasses, squinting his eyes in the sunlight.  
"I went to get clothes and food supplies", he simply retorted and showed a bag that he was holding. Now that he mentioned it, he had indeed changed clothes and it seemed that he actually owned jeans. Ass licking, grey skinny jeans no less. Paint me surprised. He didn't shred the long sleeved button up, thought.  
"I thought it'd be a problem to go out at day time", I said as I unlocked the door and let him in before me.  
"Oh, it is", he said with a wave of his hand. "I stole a lot of your sunscreen so I bought you a new bottle. Also, thanks for loaning these", he said and thrust the sunglasses to my direction. Well I did think that they were familiar looking, goddammit.  
"Wouldn't it have been okay to wait till evening?" I questioned, setting down my own bag and following him toward the kitchen. "I mean, you could even have borrowed my clothes."  
"Nah, I was a bit bored", he replied with a wave of his hand. "And felt creepy being alone in your house, too so I thought to make myself useful. Here, I don't know where you keep stuff so can you please unpack this?"  
"Sure", I replied and took the bag from him, stealing a glance at his eyes now that I had a chance. They were still a bit puffed up, but looked better than before. "What did you even buy?"  
"Sunscreen, candies, something, something", he replied as lifted his hands to his buttons. I stared at him as he opened the first one.  
"What?" he asked, his voice defensive.  
"Why are you undressing?" I asked, frozen in my place with the bag. This was not a good idea.  
"Oh, it was so hot outside but I had to wear long sleeves not to be burned", he shrugged. "So I wore a button up to protect myself. Now I'd like to hang out without it, if it's not a problem."  
  
He didn't exactly wait for my approval before unbuttoning the next few buttons which luckily revealed that he had a shirt underneath. A low cut one, but a shirt nonetheless. Or so I thought. As he shook the button up off his shoulders it became clear that he wasn't exactly wearing a shirt but a low cut tank top. With an open back that was only held together by a few crossing strings, which became clear to me as he turned partly away from me while battling off his right sleeve. His spine was a clear line next to his well formed muscles, shadows dancing across his skin.  
"Better", he said with a smile once the button up was completely gone. I didn't answer since my head was too preoccupied with how much skin he was showing. Hell, I could see his freckled sides all the way down to the end of his ribcage, his freckles beautifully dusting them.  
  
But no matter how good he looked, that wasn't what I was staring at, no.  
  
It was somehow more important that he had scars.  Scars like that freckled man in my dreams.

  
***

There had been a forest.  
A tall, tall forest.  
So tall that I couldn't see where the trees ended, and all around the ground was smattered with flecks of green light that travelled its way through the midst of leaves and needles of the gaping high trees.  
Green.  
I was drowning in the green.  
  
But he was there to pull me up.  
  
Up.  
Up,  
up,up.  
  
Up.  
  
Through the leaves. Up. Through the needles. Up.  
Up, up, up.  
  
Through the sky.  
  
His fingers were cold pressing against my skin, but I felt warm in his arms, pressed against his chest as he dashed upwards.  
  
Up.  
  
Up.  
  
Up up up.  
  
We plunged through the branches, his form opening the path shiftily and as mine followed. It was bright, so bright, and there were clouds. Clouds, clouds, clouds, everywhere I looked it was clouds - all the splashing and glittering shades of white and pearly greys and the distant blacks of storms. All of it, hugging us closer together as they sailed by and through us.  
  
I didn't know how he did it, but he lifted me on one and climbed after me. It was a small, avocado green cloud that floated past us as he placed me on it and it was warm. So so warm and soft, but also steady and firm like a well built bed. He sat next to me and we hung our legs over the edge, splashing the blue blue air like water with our toes. His feet were bare and so were mine and I couldn't stop smiling at him. He smiled back at me, entwining his icy fingers with mine but unlike ice, he didn't melt away.  
  
As we sailed by that burning red sunset, I kissed him. I kissed him to those pretty pink lips, concentrating on devouring all the taste of him that I could. He tasted like the scent of carnations on a winter morning, a cup of hot chocolate with a dusting of cinnamon atop of it in front of the fireplace. Red, shining apples and peppermints, gingerbread and honey milk. Soft and sweet, warm and bubbly. He tasted like everything that I could ever have wanted so I tried to take him in the best I could, repositioning myself onto his thighs, straddling him down. His hands were resting on the small of my back and I kept mine on his cheeks. I was scared of him running away, of him slipping past me like those clouds that just pushed through us, leaving us in the smoky darkness of its insides until it left us alone with small water crystals stuck on our hairs.  
  
His hands were turning warmer and warmer with every kiss, every touch, every sweep of the tongue and I was sure he'd burn me given the time. So he did, but it didn't hurt, no, it was like stars raining down from the sky and sparkling against my skin. I loved his every movement, his fingers that he finally let travel across the universe of my skin and the way he breathed my name between the kisses, pressing me closer and closer, closer and closer. As if he had wanted to join us by the bones, by the souls and by the flesh.  
  
I let my kisses fall down to his neck, slowly, slowly, lovingly. Mapping out all that I could find as he craned his neck back, allowing me all the access that I thirsted for as he drew circles atop my ribcage.  
  
It was spinning, spinning spinning and as I felt the little pulse drumming against my lips the pink turned black and I let myself go, burying the teeth I didn't know I had into him.  
  
Was he killing me or was I killing the death; that I did not know. But there was that woman with the eyes like ice,  standing by me and pulling me away.  
"Stop Jean", she whispered. "You are killing him."  
  
All I knew was the taste of him on my lips as he kissed me goodbye with his bleeding form and the teardrops turning into snow on my fingertips.

***

Marco seemed scared as I dropped the bag and stepped forward, closing my fingers around his wrist and pulling him close. I guess he never would have guessed that I'd hug him there and then, without any reason that he could comprehend behind my actions.  
  
Once in a while, he didn't cry, no - he just breached heavily on my arms, thousands of questions he wanted to ask glued to the tip of his tongue as I held him in my weak arms.  
  
Oh Marco.  
  
You poor,  
poor boy.  
  
What happened to you?


	12. Paper hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Walking through the masses of paper people, 2D hearts beating all around me.

"I am sure I didn't look that hopeless."  
"You did. That's why I worried so much."  
  
Marco shuffled closer to me, taking my hand in his.  
"I looked at you, and I was lost. I didn't know what I should have done."  
"If it helps at all, I didn't know what to do with you, either", I chuckled and leaned to kiss his forehead. "We were idiots, weren't we?"  
"We still are, Jean."  
"Yeah, I guess we still are."

 

***

  
Walking through the masses of paper people, 2D hearts beating all around me.  
  
People, soaking through their paper skins and becoming pieces of small snips of paper flowing across the restless ocean, playful fishes nipping at their remainings. It was getting hard to breath within the beating tails and pieces of wet paper around me, so I moved forwards.  
  
Walking through the masses of silver fishes, golden gills pushing water through them in waves all around me.  
  
It was fascinating, the way it all danced around me there.  
  
She was there. That woman with eyes like ice. She was small and so fragile that I felt I could scatter her with one gentle touch but her voice held the power of a thousand dying stars as it wrapped around my name.  
"Jean", she said as she took my hand and I was wrong. I didn't know why I even think of her as weak anymore, I didn't know. She was always so much stronger than I was, my hand weak and wet between her strong fingers.  
  
"Stop it", she whispered, squinting her eyes at me. "You are killing yourself."  
  
She pulled me up from underwater, leaving me on a rock under the sunlight to dry out.  
  
There was the man with freckled hands, and he painted me anew, with a bucket of paint simply labeled with 'water resistant'.  
  
"Now they can't hurt you", he said and smiled, his fingers dripping water.  
"What about you", I asked, unable to move in my new, stiff pain.  
"It doesn't matter", he chuckled, but I could see that the tears on his cheeks were tearing off his paper skin.  
  
I could see them, people with paper skins, all around me. A woman in a wheelchair, two young girls holding hands, their black and white fingers entwining as they smiled. A man with hands dark like coal that were playing on strings of a paper guitar that never made a sound, a smiling boy braiding the hair of a doll in a frilly dress. They were all painted anew, scars left by the water still visible but healing. I looked at him and his cracked skin and I knew that he was painting them all but he never painted himself, neglecting his own needs as he helped others.  
  
I hauled myself to my throbbing paper feet and took the brush from his hand, dipping it on the paint by my side.  
  
And I painted him, the brush travelling easily against his damp skin. Every touch seemed to fix him more, bringing colour to that grey skin and dotting him with more and more freckles.  
  
By the last brush, it was harder and harder for me to repudiate how much he looked like someone I knew. But his eyes weren't warm and sparkling and they didn't reflect all the colours of the autumn when light hit him. He was thinner and darker, his eyes set heavy and emotionless, never changing.  
  
As he leaned forward to kiss me, I didn't let him, no, not this time.  
"You will just cry", I told the death and he chuckled.  
"Well, I don't want to lose you", he said and smiled sadly at me.  
  
This time the tears he wiped away were diamonds, the precious gems bouncing off the rocks as they hit the ground.  
  
That woman stepped quietly in between us. Her hair was knotted into three beautiful, blonde buns at the top of her head and there were pearls threaded into it. She had a silver circlet that descended down her forehead, forming a soft shape of layered waves on her brow, securing a round, smoky stone on its midst.  
  
Her dress was like the morning mist that dances above the low lands at the first frost mornings of the fall, fair in colour and gauzy with lace as it laid against her paper white skin. She was wearing pendants, long pendants looking like ice that reached down to her hips, and there were sparkling flowers piercing her ear.  
  
In her hands there was a black pillow with two silver knives settled on it.  
"You are going to kill each other, so do us all a favour and do it now", she said, her eyes looking at somewhere far away, across the gloomy ocean in front of her and us. Somewhere where only she seemed to know how to look to.  
   
We looked at each other's eyes, me and that freckled man, and then at that silver gleaming under the moon that had rose as she spoke. We took those knives, and we nodded at each other, lunging our knives down at her.  
  
She stood there silently for a moment, turning to look at the knives at her chest and back the best she could. Then she chuckled, laughter ringing like bells between her heavy sputters.  
"Good try, boys", she chuckled as she rose her hands to the handles. "But you can't kill the doom."  
  
She pulled out the knives and threw them up the air, just to catch them again with a small smirk.  
"You are horrible troublemakers", she chuckled and pointed the knives at us. "Now, who should I start with?"  
  
"Don't", I choked, but her eyes stayed cold. "You are killing us."  
"No", she replied, spinning the knives between her fingers, the silver sparkling again again again, in round smooth motions that I couldn't tear my eyes off.  
"I am freeing you."  
  
With that she threw the knives, piercing our hearts and there was a small soft smile on her lips that I had never seen before as we died in her arms.

 

***

Five years earlier,  
21 st of May,  
Eastern Trost; Home  
  
Maybe I should have explained what was going on as I let go of him, but I didn't. I just shook my head at his questioning stare and turned around to pick up the scattered food from the floor. Miraculously nothing had broken, and as Marco helped me to pick up the things it didn't take long to settle everything.  
"Sorry", I murmured and looked at him from the corner of my eye. "I like your shirt."  
"Thank you", he chuckled with a smile. "I keep on wondering how indecent it would be if I made the side cuts deep enough to show my tattoo, though."  
  
Well, gladly I wasn't holding anything, again.  
  
"Your t-tattoo?!" I sputtered, staring at him and I knew I must have looked like an idiot with my eyes huge and mouth hanging open, but I didn't care. Marco nodded.  
"Yeah, I have one. Surprise?"  
"A fucking big one", I replied and collected my face. "What kind of one, if I may ask?"  
"Oh, of course, just let me show you", he shrugged and lifted the hem of his shirt on his left side. "Here", he said and pulled the waist of his trousers down a little.  
  
And no kidding, there it was. I stepped closer and leaned to look at it (to hell with being polite, it was too fascinating). It was a wing connected to his hipbone - pretty peculiar place for a wing tattoo, if you ask me. It stretched towards his back, it's styled feather hugging his skin.  
"Huh, it's pretty", I commented, admiring its details.  
"Thank you", Marco chuckled and let his waistband rise back to its place and dropped the hem from his hand. "I am pretty fond of it."  
"Why only one, tho?" I asked, remembering the absence of the tattoo on his right hip from when he showed me the text on his boxers on that street a while back. "Don't wings usually come in pairs?"  
"It's a bit hard to explain", he said and bought up his hand to rub his neck. I tried hard not to stare at his scars. "It's just, I took this when I... uh... when I... uh.."  
"You know that you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, right?"  
"It's not that I don't want to, it's just hard to tell."  
"Take your time", I shrugged. "It's not like we were in a hurry."  
  
Marco took a deep breath and sat down on one of the bar stools.  
"You see, Jean, I have been through a lot in my life", he started, running his hand through that perfectly combed hair. "And it's hard to explain some things before you know the others. So if I want to tell you the honest story of this tattoo, it will take a while, a long while."  
"That's fine with me", I replied, pulling myself up to sit on the counter opposite of him. "As long as you feel like telling I will listen."  
  
He looked at me silently, clearly thinking it over.  
"Maybe later, Jean. I don't think that I want to tell you it all yet, sorry. But I can say that it's a sign of my own personal freedom", he told with a small smile. "So when I feel that I have... achieved the rest of it, I will be getting its pair."  
"You can get tattoos still as a vampire?" I asked, pulling my legs up. "They stay on and everything?"  
"Yes, they stay on. Just like they stay on human skin, or to be honest, even better."  
"That's nice", I hummed. "You have loads and loads of time to get all that you want."  
"Yeah, that's a plus side I guess", he laughed and smiled a little. "On the other hand, I might run out of tattoo free skin if I go crazy enough."  
"Weird to imagine you all tattooed to be honest", I smiled. "But in a weird way I feel that it could fit you."  
"Who knows", Marco replied. "I have time to figure that out."  
  
We smiled at each other.  
  
"So, what do you wanna do?" I asked, dropping off the counter.  
"I am fine with anything", Marco shrugged.  
"Okay, then, lets do this", I said and pulled my phone out of my pocket and flipped on my instagram, walking next to him.  
"What's that?" Marco asked, leaning closer to have a look at the screen. "Some kind of an app?"  
"It's instagramn."  
"You have an instagram?"  
"You know what instagram is?"  
"Yeah, I do", Marco shrugged. "I just never got one. Is it fun?"  
"Guess so, I shrugged and flipped the camera on. "So lets take a picture together", I continued, sighing in happiness inside my mind as he appeared on the screen next to me clear as day.  
"Really?" he asked, but smiled anyways. I leaned my head on his shoulder  and made a peace sign before pressing the shutter.  
  
"Not bad", I hummed as I looked at the picture closer by. "But you look like a dork as ever."  
"Oh, how evil", he snorted and leaned to look. "Your pose is ridiculous."  
"It's not, it's hot."  
"It's so not", he laughed and shook his head.  
"You just jelly", I mumbled as I added in a filter (amaro, because it's good and the first) and adjusted the brightness before typing in the description.  
"Gonna beat this bae tonight in mariokart, xx #gay #guy #gay guy #guys #he'sjustmyfriendtho", Marco read over my shoulder. "You shouldn't be so sure about beating me, Jean."  
"What, you know something about Mario Kart?" I asked him with a smirk. He shrugged.  
"Been playing it a few times."  
"Few times won't beat me."  
"Might be", he shrugged and smiled.  
  
Sadly, Marco 'a few times' seemed to mean 'oh, I am European champion' or something of the kind because he proceeded to beat me up mercilessly over and over again with easiness that could only be the results of months of training. I gave him stingy eyes and he just laughed, patting my back and telling me not to be a sore loser.  
  
"Hey, Jean", he suddenly said, putting his controller down after one agonizing round of Rainbow Road later. "I have to tell you something."  
"What?" I asked, dropping my own controller to my lap and cracking my shoulders.  
"I am going for a trip."  
"A trip?" I asked, turning to look at him. He looked thoughtful.  
"Yes, a trip", he confirmed. "Friday. I won't be back for a while."  
"Okay", I replied. He looked at me carefully. "Where are you going to?"  
"Uh, Hungary?" he replied and smiled. I froze.  
"Hungary? You are going abroad?"  
"Yeah", he replied. "For a month."  
"A month?"  
"Yeah. I mean, I can't move out the whole day so I have to use a lot of time locked up", he explained. "So I want to take time so I can see the sights with time and just look around the every day life there. Or well, maybe every night life is more accurate."  
"I see", I muttered. "Why Hungary?"  
"I have always wanted to see it and I have a friend there that I want to visit. It's nice having a place to bunk at and have someone showing you around."  
"Is this friend a vampire?"  
"Yes, she is", Marco said with a smile. "Her name is Eszter. She promised to take me around the places that I want to see."  
"Oh, well then, have fun I guess?" I said and smiled. "You won't have this change often, will you?"  
"Not really", he laughed. "I will have my phone with me so we can text."  
"Sure", I nodded.  
"I also meant to ask if you have a Skype", he smiled. "Because I have it on my phone and if you do, we can talk, too."  
"Yeah, I have a Skype. Let me add you once I am on my computer, I don't remember my username", I said and tried to hide my surprise. Okay. So vampires have Skypes.  
"That's fine. I will buy you souvenirs, though only something small", he smiled and picked up his controller. "But yeah, ready for next round?"  
"Sure!" I replied and picked up my controller. "What road?"  
"Maybe we should take Mario Circuit so that you can stay on the road?"  
"Oh fuck you, Marco Bott", I scowled and picked up the Rainbow Road. "I will show you that I can beat this shit."  
"Good luck", he hummed. "You will need it."  
"Shut up."  
"Love you, too", he chuckled and proceeded to throw me off the road before the first lap was even finished. What a tool.

  
***

"Hey Marco."  
"Hmm?"  
"We haven't played Mario Kart in ages."  
"What, you want to play it now?"  
"I don't know. I just realised. Why did we stop?"  
"Good question. Maybe we became too busy kissing to play games."  
"Maybe. But we are not kissing now."  
"Was that a cue that we should play or kiss?"  
"Kiss. Idiot."  
"Then I can comply with pleasure."  
  



	13. Jó éstét

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I tasted around the name in my mind, trying to decide what it meant. Who was she? What was her relation to Marco?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope I didn't mess up the Hungarian - please correct me if I did.  
> Jó éstét - good evening   
> Fíu - boy

There were no flashy goodbyes the following morning as he left. No cliché movie kisses nor hugs. We said our goodbyes and he left, and it was clear that we wouldn't see each other until the month would have passed.

Four days after he left I got the results of my EKG scan. The only thing they could find was the same as always - the small extra sound in my heart. Nothing new, nothing cool. Nothing that would have told us what was wrong.

The day following that, Connie called me and asked me to visit his family's grave with him and Sasha. We sat there by the grave for two hours while Connie told us stories of them all, of his parents and of Sunny and Martin. We all cried, he the most. Saying that he still had Martin's acceptance letter to high school that had been saved from the fire because it was crumpled at the bottom of the bag Connie was borrowing from him. That, and the one picture he kept on his nightstand were all that he had left of his brother, of his sister and his parents. Of the house that burned down with them and didn't even leave behind enough bones to tell who was who.

In one, single night, Connie had lost all he had had. He had been with us, playing games and having fun when the police officers came. The neighbour lady had been able to say that maybe Connie was away, based on his missing bike. That maybe he was visiting me. I don't think I could ever forget Connie's face when I called him downstairs from my old house and he saw the police officers. When they asked whether he was Connie Springer or not. When they said that they had news about his family, and that he should come with them. Neither could I forget how Sash had dashed downstairs, shouting that Connie was innocent after she had spotted the cars. She had shouted until the police let her go with Connie, and she held his hand steady in hers as they walked off. Later that night, she texted me the news, long after I had smelled the smoke that the winds carried all the way across the city and read the news.

It had been four years. Four years to mourn a family. Connie was doing great, he was. He was betrothed, he had his flat with Sash and he held a part time job while studying. He had learned to live for himself, but it hadn't been easy. He had been the boy who always worked hard for his family. To show them he was worthy and good. He had had to turn around his whole life, and he did.

He stood up after telling about the first time Sunny had tied her own shoes, then looked from Sash to me and spurted out:  
"Jean, we are getting married this fall. Will you be my best man?"  
"No, he will be my maiden of honour", Sash shrieked and linked her arm to mine. After a lot of bickering we ended up in the conclusion that I would somehow be both his best man and her maiden of honour. It got me kind of giggly.

Connie asked me about my heart carefully, and I just shrugged. No news, so to say. I knew nothing and neither did the doctors. There was worry in the glance that he and Sash exchanged, but I pretended not to see.

I remembered my condition all too well even without reminders.

I texted with Marco some. I say text, and I mean dropping messages into Skype chat. He barely had WiFi a lot of the time, which I understood. He checked in to ask how I was when he could and once we tried to have a call. I say tried, because he was in some down street bar with his friend Eszter and his voice died under the music and background babbling mostly in languages that I didn't understand. He turned the camera on and smiled and apologized, and showed me his friend. Eszter had a dashing smile, black curly locks and tanned olive skin and she seemed to laugh a lot. She was maybe in her early 30's, or was when she was turned, and her hazel eyes seemed to spark with energy. Marco typed me, telling me that they were near Eztergom, and that they would arrive there tomorrow. He said that he planned on going to the castle and Slovakia, just because he could. I shook my head and told him to have fun. He smiled and nodded, and soon after his WiFi got so sketchy that he apologetically exited the call.

Two days after that, I went over to Sasha's place (who are we kidding, Sasha was the queen who owned the place) where we binge watched Puella Magi Madoka Magica just because we could. Sasha laughed maniacally next to us after the third episode since she had seen it all before and me and Connie got pissed at her. Until the next episode and a bowl of ice cream.

Because, as we know, Sasha loved her food and was a flipping great chef I stayed at their place for dinner. Dinner bought up the topic of Marco.  
"I have been meaning to ask you, Jean, who was the hottie on that instagram post from a few weeks past?" Sash asked as she settled the soup plate in front of me.  
"Oh yeah, the freckled one?" Connie prompted, turning his attention to me. I tried hard to remind myself that they were talking about Marco and not the man from my dreams.  
"He's Marco", I muttered and carefully blew into my first spoonful of soup before tasting it. "This is fucking delicious, oh my god. Connie you are a lucky man."  
"I know that", he said with a small, soft gaze towards his wife-to-be. "But Marco. Who is he and why don't we know about him?"  
"I met him in April. He kinda saved me from getting beaten up."  
"Oh my god, that's so nice!" Sasha chirped up, settling down her spoon. Uh oh. "Maybe he's your Prince Charming!"  
"I feel that now is an extremely good moment to tell you that we are friends. Just friends, Sash."  
"You seem pretty close, tho", Connie added in, looking down at his phone. "I mean, you have your head on his shoulder and everything,and he's giving you the goo goo eyes."  
"He's not", I groaned and shushed him off. "We haven't even known each other that long."  
"Time's just a word", Sasha smiled with her eyes gleaming dangerously. I knew that that look never meant anything good so I sighed and covered my eyes.  
"Just... please don't try to set us up, Sash."

She just answered with a shake of her head and a giggle and I groaned inwardly. The moment Sasha decided to put her nose into somewhere it didn't belong, she'd make her best efforts of turning it how ever she wanted it to turn. I knew I could kiss goodbye to peaceful times in my life for a long, long while.

Well, it could have been worse, and I knew it. I quietly glanced at my phone, wondering how Marco was doing and who he was with. Probably that friend of his... Eszter, was it? I tasted around the name in my mind, trying to decide what it meant. Who was she? What was her relation to Marco?

Were they dating?

"God, look at him. Now he's making the 'lone widow' face."  
"No Connie, that's the 'when will my husband return from the war' face."  
"It's the same thing."  
"It's not. There's more wonder, lovesickness and hope in this one."  
"Oh, I see I see. You are right."  
"Shut the fuck up, both of you."  
"Language, Jean."  
"Fuck off."  
"How scary, I am going to wet my pants. Sash, do I have extra pants?"  
"No, you don't, because you haven't washed the clothes. You will have to borrow mine if you pee yours, so please ask Jean to be kind and not scare you anymore."  
"Jean, -"  
"You two are ridiculous."  
"We're not."  
"Yes you are. You really are."

***

  
5 years earlier,  
23 rd of May,  
Budapest; Hungary

The clap of my shoes against the cobblestones was almost hypnotic. It sounded familiar, but yet so foreign. The scents that lingered in the air, I wasn't used to them, not at all. The air was heavily dusted with the scent of dried paprikas as I walked past the little corner stores that were closing up, followed up by the floury scent of fresh bread by the bakeries that seemed to be everywhere. There was laughter in the air and the whisk of tail of that lone dog that calmly trotted past me and the other bypassers. It was warm, really warm, and the last rays of sunlight were kissing my back lovingly.

She stood at the street corner, her face lighting up into a smile that pressed her cheeks against the frames of her sunglasses. She waited for me to arrive by her side before greeting me.  
"Jó éstét, Marco", she said and tiptoed to kiss my cheeks. I smiled as she retreated.  
"Jó éstét, Eszter. It's a beautiful evening."  
"Isn't it", she smiled and looked carefully around. "It's lovely to see them all relaxed. Did you have a safe travel?"  
"Yes, I was rather fortunate with the flights", I smiled. "I have to say though, I never expected the metro to take this long."  
"Well, I warned you that it'd take over an hour to get here from the airport by it", Eszter chuckled and smiled. "Glad to see you again, Marco."  
"It's nice seeing you, too, Eszter. How have you been?"  
"Quite well, actually", she smiled. "Réka made the decision to stay with me."  
"Really?" I gasped, feeling the smile on my face widening. "That's so amazing, Eszter! Has she already been, you know..?"  
"She hasn't been turned yet", Eszter said with a shake of her head. "She said that she wants to turn 28 first. That's this Saturday."  
"Oh, are you going to do something special?" I asked and heaved my bag to my other shoulder. Eszter smiled softly.  
"We will be going around and tasting all the food she likes. It will be the best of dates."  
"That sounds lovely", I hummed and rolled my shoulders.  
"I hope that you can help me with the process later that night", Eszter said and motioned me to follow her. "I know it can get a bit tricky."  
"Oh, gladly", I answered and followed her. We were walking uphill on the street, and the air was busy and bustling all around us. "Anything to help you, Eszter."

"That reminded me, fíu", she said and turned around, pulling me close by the wrist. Her cold fingers lingered to touch my left hipbone through my light shirt, and her eyes were glued to mine. "When are you going to grow your wings and fly?"  
"Not yet, Eszter. I am not ready yet", I said and shook my head as Eszter slid her fingers away. "It's not the time."  
"But yet you said you came here for the needle?" she questioned, tilting her head to the side. "What do you want if not your wing?"  
"I will show you somewhere when it's quieter", I shrugged. "I am sure that you will like it."  
"Are you sure?" she said with a snort. "If it's something completely ridiculous, I will refuse to tattoo you."  
"It's not ridiculous", I laughed. "I will prove it to you."  
"You better", Eszter chuckled and straightened out her grey shirt. "But yes, we should go. Réka's waiting for us at home."  
"I am excited to finally meet her. You have told me so much about her."  
"Just don't tell her that", Eszter laughed and started walking forwards again. "Come, sweetie. Réka makes the best smelling food in town."

I followed her again, up the hill and through smaller and smaller streets, to where the houses looked older and where the streets weren't cleaned that often. But they were lovely streets, bakeries and small cafes still dotting the scene now and then as we climbed higher and higher up.

It took us a while to walk where she lived, to this lovely old house with its mustard yellow paint adorned by cracks and dusk of time. But it felt warm like home as Réka ran down the stairs to hug us both.

It felt safe as I smiled up at her, and I knew that I would enjoy my stay.  
"Jó éstét, Réka", I smiled and extended my hand. "It's nice to meet you."

***

"You remember how I told you about Réka?"  
"Eszter's girlfriend?"  
"Yes. Did I ever tell you that she was turned when I was in Hungary?"  
"She was?"  
"Yes. It was... a turmoil of emotions for me."  
"Why so?"  
"Because I saw Réka giving up her life for love. It scared me."  
"It scared you? Why?"  
"Because of you, Jean, because of you and your beating heart."


	14. Tattoo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't escape the unsettling feeling that gnawed at the bottom of my stomach.

5 years before,  
6 th of June,  
Hungary; Budapest

Eszter's hands were thin, bony and steady as she lifted up her tattoo gun.  
"Ready, Marco?"  
"Ready", I answered, gulping as she leaned closer. "As ready as one can be, I guess."  
"I think you are pretty brave", she said as she pressed the gun against the skin on my right shoulder. "I mean, you used to have a phobia of needles, didn't you?"  
"I still don't like them", I admitted, hissing at the pain of the tattoo gun's needle piercing my skin time after time.  
"How does it feel?" Eszter asked as she took the gun of my skin to dip it on more colour. "Does it hurt much?"  
"I am not sure how to explain the feeling, to be honest... but it's a bit like how a cut feels, but it burns less and doesn't hurt as long." Eszter just hummed thoughtfully as a reply.

"Talking of cuts, Marco", she started after a while. Uh. Oh. Fuck. "How has recovery been?"  
"I'm clean", I muttered, lowering my eyes. "I relapsed four months ago, but that was just once."  
"So you have stopped trying to kill yourself?" she asked without batting an eye. It took me a moment to answer, looking anywhere but here as if I was busy gazing at the falling dust against sunset that was seeping through the dirty window. It shouldn't have been hard to answer, but I think I lost my voice somewhere around her third word.  
"Yeah. I think I am done with that", I finally managed to answer after battling away the feeling of pressure from my throat and turning my eyes back to her. "For good."  
"That's great, then", she nodded and dipped the needle into the ink again. "Congratulations on your new life, Marco."  
"Kösznöm szépen", I managed to tackle out with my messed up pronounciation which just made Eszter laugh under her breath. Her hand stayed steady, which I was thankful for.  
"Tell me, Marco, why this design?" she then asked, her eyes glued to the work. "It's beautiful, but I am curious."

I thought about it for a while, listening to the buzzing of the machine against my skin and the tick of the clock on the wall behind me. We were in a small, quiet workroom at Eszter's home - Réka was sitting in the corner sofa on the other end of it, looking pale and a bit drained. Which wasn't that much of a surprise, since she hadn't been a vampire for even two full weeks. She was taking it much better than I had - I had to give my respect to her for even being in the same room with the tattoo gun. I had been oversensitive for voices much longer. She lifted her gaze from the magazine that she was holding, meeting my eyes, surprised. She gave me a small smile and wave of hand. I smiled back at her.

"When things were bad, I'd escape to the garden", I said, turning my attention back to Eszter and the pain in my arm. She took the gun of my skin and met my eyes before turning back to work.  
"And?"  
"There were apple trees. Nine of them, to be more specific."  
"That's a bad number", Eszter muttered. I just chuckled.  
"Going into number meanings or will you let me tell you more?"  
"Tell me more."  
"They were old, kinda abandoned trees. The whole garden was old. It wasn't ours."  
"Naturally not."  
"It was a short distance away on a road with only two houses. This abandoned one and one where one old, old grandma lived. I often hid in these trees."  
"They were strong enough for you to climb them?"  
"Yes, they were very old. Few of them so old that I wouldn't have dared to climb them... I was afraid that the branches would break. But the others were fine. I'd climb up there to hide."  
"I don't meant to be mean, Marco, but aren't those bad memories? Why would you want them on your skin?" Eszter questioned, now moving to tattoo from under my collarbone. It stung a lot.  
"Not exactly. Sometimes, yes, but those trees were safe for me. The one safe place that I had."  
"I see. Why blossoms?"  
"Because I loved sitting up there the most in the spring and early summer, with the branches full of blossoms around me. It looked a bit like snow, but kinder."  
"So that's why you want an apple tree branch on your skin. I am starting to understand. Do you know what apple trees symbolize?"  
"I don't have the faintest idea, Eszter. I wasn't alive in older times."  
"I am not that old."  
"Yeah, just barely four hundred and fifty."  
"Shut up, fíu."  
"Yea yea", I chuckled and tried to push the pain away from my mind. "So what does it symbolize?"  
"Youth, happiness, purity, goodwill, fertility, wholeness, rebirth and beauty to say a few. Apple trees have fascinated people from all around. Oh, also health and magic."  
"That's... a lot, I gotta say", I responded, dumbfounded. Eszter nodded lightly.  
"Apple trees have a lot of good meanings. It fits you, especially with your own story. I like how you just kept it black lines and didn't want to colour it. It's just... you, I guess."  
"Thank you."  
"There's no need to thank me."

We settled into silence that was only broken by the hum of the tattoo gun, the sound of Réka turning the pages of her magazine and the occasional ruffle of Eszter's clothes as she moved her arms. The pain was slowly throbbing in my arm and chest, but it could have been a lot worse. At one point, Eszter took a coffee break and I asked for permission to listen to music for the rest of the operation. Permission granted I let my mind drown onto the words of Woodkid, quietly humming along to a few of them.

"How ever fast I dance to make the sun shine  
I will never fall down  
No matter what it takes, I'll try to save the ghost lights  
How ever hard I pray to remake you mine  
I will never feel down  
No matter what it takes, I'll try to save the ghost lights"

Réka looked up at me, with a surprise in her eyes before her smile widened. She trotted out of the room and soon returned with a black book that had two golden keys on the cover. I didn't miss a beat recognizing it as the special edition of Woodkid's album called 'The Golden Age'. She offered the album to me, but I shook my head and pointed at Eszter and the tattoo. Réka smiled and nodded, stepping further away and setting the album at the table.

It bothered me a little that I lacked the ways of communicating with Réka. She was mute - had always been - and I couldn't sign, even less in Hungarian. She tried to write me few notes but her English was too weak for any real communication. So we couldn't held a conversation without Eszter translating us for each other, but through those talks I had come to like Réka a lot. It was clear that she loved Eszter deeply and was generally a kind and generous woman. I was happy for Eszter.

I couldn't say that I didn't worry, though. I glanced carefully towards Réka who was still suffering from her post transformation paleness. It wasn't too easy to settle down to the fact that you were a vampire now - that I could say from my own personal experience. Though Réka was given the choice whereas my vampire hood was more of a forced one. She knew what was coming and she had been warned of everything. She knew what she was giving up, but I was afraid if she really understood it. Understood that for the rest of her life... for the rest of who ever knew how long, she'd have to watch as all her human friends would grow old and die. No, actually, she could never stay in one place too long. She'd never be able to settle anymore. She'd have to move from place to place, getting new identities all over again, over and over and over, in a never ending cycle. How she could never eat like before anymore - I don't think one realises how much it affects your life before you have to turn down all of your lunch invitations and see people slowly starting to wonder if everything was alright with you. Did she really realise it meant giving up on getting your own children? How it meant giving up on your own time, how you'd never grow old? I think humans resent growing old way too much. But I am biased, when growing old is all that I am yearning for and also what I cannot get. Did she really understand it all?

I sighed and looked down at Eszter working on my tattoo. She gave me a curious look for my sigh, but didn't pressure me on it as I shook my head. She was basically finished - she was now cleaning my skin to find any places that would need fixing. Apparently she needed to add one line to one of the blossoms on my shoulder before smiling widely and giving me a thumbs up. She continued to carefully clean my skin before gesturing for me to take off my headphones.  
"You can go look at your tattoo in the mirror, now."

I stood up, setting my headphones and phone on the table on the way. The man looking back at me in the mirror still had the same ridiculous amount of freckles (it had, indeed, been the end of summer when I had been turned so I was stuck with that 'freckles anywhere you can see' look. Thankfully I had at least tanned without lines that year), same black hair, slenderly muscular build and that hip tattoo from before. My newly tattooed skin was slightly reddish but it didn't ruin the picture. I stepped in closer, turning a little to have a better look at the parts on my shoulder. I resisted the urge to touch the tattoo, just carefully looking at it through the reflection. All I could think of was how much I liked it - Eszter had once again tattooed just what I wanted on me. I kept staring at the tattoo for a moment longer with a soft smile on my lips before turning back to thank Eszter and sitting down again to let her apply the cream layer and plastic wrap above it before letting me off, reminding me to only use loose shirts for a few days. I nodded and collected my things before making my way up to the room that I was using while visiting - I knew Eszter wouldn't let me help with cleaning up the room, so I didn't even bother offering.

The room that I lived in had a sloped ceiling with view up to the sky through the window. It wasn't a big room - maybe old, renewed servant room even, but it was cozy. I had a good bed and heavy footed, short cabinet that I could store my things in. I was fully content with that, especially since I had electricity running in the room and was able to charge my phone there. All that I could need, to be honest... that and the blood Eszter had stored in her fridge. I was in rather good conditions, so I should have been a happy vampire, I guess. But I couldn't escape the unsettling feeling that gnawed at the bottom of my stomach.

Jean.

I closed my eyes, and I saw the silent fear in Réka's eyes just before she was turned. Would she have screamed if she had vocal cords?

Jean. Would Jean scream?

My eyes flew open and I gasped for breath. Not that I would really have needed to but it's not as if I could have stopped my reactions, either. Why was I even thinking of Jean? There was no way Jean would be turning into a vampire.

The gnawing thing in my stomach decided to chomp down a big piece at that thought.

Calm down Marco, he's going to grow old and die. You can see him through all that. He's not going to turn, there's no reason he'd be turned. If he even lived to be old. With his heart and all...

I felt the sudden need to pull out my phone and open the Skype app. Every second that it took to load felt like torture and I didn't hesitate to call him the second it was possible since his icon was green. Three desperate seconds later he answered.

"Marco?"  
"Jean", I breathed into the phone, letting out the air I didn't know that I was holding. "Are you alright?"  
"Eh, uh, yeah? What's this?"  
"Jean, how did that heart film turn out?"  
"My heart film? They found the same as always, the small side noise in it. No explanations from there."  
"Oh... I see", I muttered, not sure whether I should feel relieved or even more worried. "Is your health otherwise okay?"  
"Yeah, it's the same as before. Where's this all coming from?"  
"It's nothing, I just felt worried out of nowhere", I confessed, nibbling at my knuckles. "Sorry about that."  
"Why are you saying sorry? You were just worried, it's fine. How's it going?"  
"It's quite fine. My shoulder and chest are throbbing but otherwise it's okay."  
"What? Throbbing? What happened, man?"  
"It's nothing serious, I just got a tattoo."

There was a stunned silence on the line, and I had to check that the call hadn't disconnected. It hadn't. I placed the phone back to my ear just in time to hear Jean's next words.  
"You got a new tattoo?"  
"Yes. That's kind of why I came here."  
"What?"  
"Eszter is the one who tattooed my hip tattoo, too. I trust her work", I explained, shuffling myself into a better position.  
"I didn't know."  
"I never told."  
"I noticed", Jean huffed out with a breathy laughter. "And here I was thinking that she's your long distance girlfriend or something."  
"Oh my god", I snorted and fell into a small series of chuckles. "Jean, she's lesbian. In a relationship with her vampire girlfriend Réka. She's nice, too."  
"I feel like an idiot", Jean laughed weakly on the other end of the line. "But seriously, how could I have known?"  
"I thought that you knew that I am gay?" I questioned. "Or did I never tell?"  
"Bright thinking, Sherlock, you never told that either." I could hear the snarl in Jean's voice. How beautiful.  
"My apologies. I couldn't have known that your gaydar is rusty."  
"Shut up, my gaydar is fine. You just... escaped it."  
"Mm'm, so you say", I laughed with a smile. "So, how are you?"  
"You already asked that."  
"No, I asked if you were okay and about your health. I didn't ask how you are."  
"Marco, I know I have said it before, but you really are weird."  
"What's weird with me being interested in my friend's life?" I questioned. "I want you to tell me what's going on in your life." There was a pause in Jean's breath.  
"You really, really are weird", he said, his voice choked up. "Level thousand weird."  
"Weird's my middle name."  
"No, it's not, that'd never have gone through the name law system."  
"Well, too bad", I laughed. "It's just a metaphorical one, then."  
"Yeah."

We fell silent for a while and I listened to Jean's breathing, waiting for him to answer. When he didn't, I prompted him again: "So, how are you?"  
"You really want me to reply to that, don't you?"  
"Yeah, I do."  
"Well, I don't know. I am quite fine, you could say. Connie asked me to be his best man the other day and Sasha asked me to be her maiden of honour and somehow I ended up saying yes to both. I am not sure how that's going to work out but it's their wedding so it's probably going to be crazy anyways."  
"Your friends are getting married?"  
"Yes, in the fall. That's all that I know for now."  
"That's quite amazing. Give them my congratulations."  
"Sure. That'll fire Sasha up all nice and warm."  
"What?"  
"Nothing. I think they want to meet you."  
"Oh", I muttered, feeling weirdly honoured. Had Jean talked of me to his friends? "Sure, why not after I have come back?"  
"You have no idea what they are like."  
"They are your friends, so I will let my imagination run free."  
"What do you mean?"  
"Well, seeing that the only friend of yours that I know is, well, me, my knowledge of your taste of friends is that you prefer them supernatural. Are those two ghouls?"  
"Ghouls? Why would they be ghoul- wait, are you saying that ghouls are real?"  
"Who am I to know that?" I snickered. "I have heard that werewolves are just a legend, though. None of the vampires that I know have ever met or know of anyone who would have met one."  
"So it was a joke?"  
"Of course it was a joke."  
"You convinced me for a second that my friends could possibly be ghouls. For a sake of a joke", Jean said, his voice basically dripping with sarcasm. "I am hurt."  
"Well, prince, I do apologize", I hummed. "For hurting your precious soul."  
"Not to hurt you, Marco, but sometimes the way you speak reminds me of badly scripted porn."  
"Maybe that's what I am. Just a badly scripted porn character that ran out of the porno and I am stuck in time for eternity because I didn't suck off my porno partner's dick. Maybe that's what being a vampire is actually about. We are just all badly scripted porn characters stuck in time because we refused to listen to our script."

The boisterous laughter that filled my ears was definitely worth saying that all, if you asked me.

"I am pleased that you are enjoying my weak expression of humor."  
"Your humor is flawless. Please make jokes more often."  
"But the credit goes to you. I could never have come up with that if you hadn't said what you said."  
"Shut up and accept the compliment, Marco. Feel a little pride now and then."  
"Well, I certainly didn't know that I signed up for free lectures by the professor Kirstein by calling this number but so it would appear."  
"Gee thanks. Be a good pupil and learn your lessons then, young man. Furthermore, who spewed the lie of this course being free? It's incredibly expensive."  
"Oh, and how exactly am I supposed to pay this course to you then, Mr Kirstein?"  
"Not by making a porno, if that's what you are thinking. We are not making a porn."  
"But we sound like horribly cliché porn, don't we?"  
"We do. I am feeling the urge to wash my mouth with soap for saying that all. Christ."  
"See, your denial is starting. You are about to escape your own porn, Jean. Be careful or you just might get stuck in time."  
"What, are you gonna turn me for being a naughty boy?"  
"NO", I said in a voice that was far too loud by generous amounts of decibels. "I am not going to kill you."  
"Sorry. I didn't mean to -"  
"It's not that. Sorry. I shouldn't have... I think I am just tired. I should probably sleep." I didn't wait for a reply before exiting the call and throwing my phone to the other end of the bed where it landed with a soft thump.

Funny how one word could ruin my night just like that.


	15. His skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And maybe, just for a fleeting moment there as he stood against that window with his made up halo I had wanted to kiss him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The French parts have translation. Follow the link on first French word (leads to tumblr) or open the end notes on separate tab I guess?

Five years earlier,  
7 th of May,  
Hungary; Budapest  
  
Tram number 4, midnight. Last train, my head against the glass with the salt of my tears still biting my eyes. It's not quiet, it never is here. But it's tranquil as we pass across the Margid Híd to Pest, the street lights flickering past me on the other side of that glass that separated my world from those on the other side.  
  
How long had I ridden on the tram now?  
  
How many times had I taken that line from end to end? It's long... is it half an hour one way? More? I don't know.  
  
I just didn't want to get off. Not now. Yet, I couldn't run away for ever, could I?  
  
Third stop on Pest side, walk past that Starbucks and deeper into the streets. There's a small bar underground that doesn't maybe look that promising - who am I kidding, the entrance made me think of some kind of dirty drug cave. However, I knew that it wasn't. It was just a weird bar with a room whose ceiling was filled with opened umbrellas and numerous mish matched sofas that people could hang on. I liked the place. They didn't ask me why I only ordered one drink and stayed the night, barely touching it. They didn't care and they let me pick the music sometimes. I had come to like the place a lot in the last few weeks.  
  
Today, I just wanted to be quiet thought.  
  
I wasn't sad, per se. I was just wistful. Calm and wistful. Wishing that I could be up there, sitting on that apple tree branch like all those times before. Just a small boy with freckled knees and strong arms that would pull me up. To feel the rough, crumbling bark cutting into my fingers and pressing against my back. To hold my breath during the flower season as bees flew around me, wishing that they wouldn't sting me and they never did. I missed sitting up there with the wind kissing my cheeks, surrounded by the scent that the ongoing season was giving me and running my finger over the carving that I had found one of the days. It wasn't there always, it just appeared. At first, I was furious - who would hurt such an old and beautiful tree? But as it healed, I realised that it was never that deep and the person carving had been weirdly careful.  
  
I drew my free hand slowly to touch my shoulder where I knew that simple carving to be redrawn onto my skin. Where it reminded me to fight. To survive. I smiled as I let my hand fall down to my lap.  
  
I had realised it a while ago, but that man was there again. That man who kept making eyes at me. He had long hair coloured like ashy butter that tended to separate to wisps that all seemed to have their own life and sense of direction. I had seen him before. He seemed to go by often. He'd always look at me with those hungry eyes. I didn't like it, and neither did Eszter.  
"Stay away from people like him", she had whispered the first time we were at that same bar together, pulling me further away from him. "He's no good news."  
  
Today, he also looked at me. Today he also decided come up to me, now that I was alone I guessed. I braced myself to use my weak Hungarian, consisting of few separate words and phrases here and there to tell him that I didn't speak it. However, it seemed that there was no need for that as the man opened his mouth and let out his perfect, flawless English:  
"Do you mind if I sit down?"  
"Uh, yeah, by all means", I managed to mutter, feeling the weight of my own accent at the tip of my tongue. Was he a native speaker? Why didn't he have an accent? Why was I the one stuck with an accent... how awkward. The man, however, didn't comment on my accent - he just smiled and set down next to me, not too close, but still close enough for me to question it.  
"I have been seeing you around here lately. You are not a local, are you?" he noted, setting his beer down and laying his hand to the space in between our thighs.  
"No, just a visitor", I agreed, pretending not to notice the hand that seemed to be slowly sliding closer. "You don't seem like a local, either."  
"Oh, just a wanderer", the man hummed, taking a sip out of his beer. "Been here before, though. Always seem to end up here at some point. There's something special about this city, you see."  
"I see", I replied, awkwardly tapping my fingers against my coke glass. "That must be an interesting life."  
"Not at all. You look way more interesting", the man laughed and pointed at me with his forefinger. I stared at it for a moment.  
"Me?"  
"Yes, you", the man said and smiled. "I'm Henrik. You?"  
"Angelo", I quietly replied and took the man's offered hand. I didn't like the vibe he was giving off so I automatically opted for a fake name. Bad habit, I guess. "Nice to meet you, Henrik."  
"Alike, Angelo. Italian, I assume?" he asked and the hand he had kept between us crept closer to me, his fingertips now touching my thigh.  
"Partly", I simply replied and pulled my hand off. "Don't speak a word, though."  
"Ah, what a shame", the man laughed and smiled a little."Your voice would fit Italian."  
"Excuse me?" I asked, gritting my teeth together, preparing the words to comment on how I definitely wasn't comfortable with the way his palm had slid to my leg and the other one to the small of my back. What a slimy, disgusting man. But I didn't want to cause a scene in the bar that I liked so much.  
"Ah, it's nothing", Henrik laughed and tugged at the hem of my shirt, trying to slip his fingers under it but I pushed his hand calmly away, looking him deep into the eyes. He just chuckled again before saying:  "I'm going to get another drink. Do you want anything?"  
"No thank you", I refused, shaking my head. "Not a big drinker."  
"Ah, I see", Henrik answered with a smile and stood up. "Well, then I shall be back in few minutes, angel."  
  
He winked. He winked at me.  
  
Great. If I wasn't a vampire I'd consider throwing up from disgust right now. But since I was a vampire, I did something completely different - I pulled out my phone, looking at the time and cursing silently in my mind. Please be awake. Please. I didn't have WiFi at the pub, so I pulled up normal texts and Jean's number:  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Jean, are you awake?  
  
It didn't take more than fifteen seconds for him to reply.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Yea, and so are you. What is it?  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Can I ask you to do something incredibly awkward?  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
? I guess, what's this about  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Don't laugh, but there's a guy who has been eyeing me for the past few weeks. He's trying to hit on me, I think, and he's a bit creepy and I want to get rid of him without a hassle. Could you pretend to be my boyfriend if I called you in a few minutes? You'd have to speak English and pretend that my name is Angelo.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Sure no prob, you out of wifi?  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Sadly I am. I will call you in two?  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
nah, just wait three mins before doing anything okay.  
  
I didn't have time to reply before I heard the steps coming closer and lifted my case up to see Henrik coming back. I closed the screen of my phone and nodded at him as he sat back down - closer to me than before, our knees knocking together and his form leaned towards me.  
"So, Angelo, I was thinking -", he started, but the buzzing of my phone cut him short. I stole a gaze at the unknown number before lifting the phone up to my ear.  
"Hi?"  
"Hello, Angelo. Am I just Jean or do I have a code name?"  
"J-Jean!" I smiled to the phone. "I thought that I was supposed to call you?"  
"Nah, I have skype credit. So better for me to call you than for you to call insanely expensive oversea calls."  
"You are an angel", I laughed and Henrik raised his eyebrows. I could hear Jean laughing, too.  
"I thought that you were the angel tonight, Angelo. Everything okay?" his voice was serious and I felt Henrik's eyes boring holes into me, so I decided to hurry this up.  
"Quite, I am in a pub now. Oh wait a second, hun - sorry Henrik, my boyfriend called me - yeah, so - Henrik? Someone from the pub-" I babble on, as if he would have asked me something until he stopped me.  
"Let me talk to him. Like a worried boyfriend would", Jean whispered to my ear. I would rather not admit that it sent shivers down my spine.  
"Sure", I replied before pulling the phone off my ear. "Um, Henrik, he wants to talk to you if that's okay?"  
"To me? Sure", Henrik replied and pulled the phone from my hands and answered it with a simple hi.  
  
Then, to my surprise, he immediately broke into animated French. Which I understood nothing of next to the fact that it was French. I could just decide that it was probably a pretty interesting conversation, based on the way Henrik's eyebrows jumped up and down on his forehead. It took several minutes of that before Henrik shoved the phone back to me.  
"Your boyfriend is crazy", he simply said and took his drink and stood up. "It was nice meeting you, please tell him that I won't bother you anymore."  
"Uhhuh, bye", I said before pulling the phone back to my ear. "You. Do I want to know what just happened?"  
"It was nothing special. I just told him to keep his meaty fingers far away from my things", Jean replied, giggling. "It worked quite well, didn't it? It was useful that he knew French, I got to be creative."  
"Jean, how many languages do you actually speak?"  
"Four?"  
"Oh, of course you do", I laughed and shook my head. "That's quite cool, pony boy."  
"Hey, why are you calling me names when I just saved your arse from a random pervert? You should show some gratitude."  
"Mmm, maybe another time. I also wanted to apologize for earlier", I said, fingering the rim of my glass. The coke was probably all yucky and warm by this point but I needed distraction.  
"Ah, about that... did I say something wrong?" Oh Jean, please don't sound so broken about it. I'm sorry. I really am. Of course I didn't say that, though.  
"No. Yes. Not really." Very snazzy of me. Well done, Marco. Ten points and a parrot sticker to you.  
"Marco, you are not making sense." Trust me Jean, I know that much.  
"It's just... please don't joke about me killing you, I guess", I managed to mumble out. "It's a bit of...  I don't even know what it is. It just throws me off."  
"I will lay it down, then", he answered, his voice calm and strong. He didn't even question it. He just accepted it.  
  
I could feel a soft smile rising to my lips.  
"Thank you, Jean."

***

5 years before,  
7 th of June,  
Eastern Trost; Home  
  
From: Marco  
Sadly I am. I will call you in two?  
  
To: Marco  
nah, just wait three mins before doing anything okay.  
  
I gotta tell you, getting asked to pretend to be Marco Bott's boyfriend in the middle of the night was not what I was expecting from my life, but here I am. Not that I had anything against it but... playing a fake boyfriend for a guy halfway across the continent, in a bar, in trouble with some drunk doesn't sounds like a normal thing,  I guess, but Marco's not a normal guy. A vampire.  
I am faking being a vampire's boyfriend.  
How cool's that, yeah?  
  
I clicked on the Skype icon on my desktop and waited for it to sign in impatiently. Come on Skype, I'm supposed to play the prince to save the dam... vampire in distress, let me do my job. After what felt like a small eternity but was in reality probably closer to thirty seconds I was able to click on the 'call phones' section and type in Marco's phone number. Luckily I was never out of Skype credit -   ma grand mère liked talking to me enough to buy me generous amount of credit now and then.  
  
It took Marco three seconds to answer.  
"Hi?" his hesistant voice answered, muffled by the song that I could hear playing in the background. He really was in a bar. Somehow it was... surprising, to say so.  
"Hello, Angelo", I started with a smirk. " Am I just Jean or do I have a code name?"  
"J-Jean! I thought that I was supposed to call you?" I could hear his smile. That was nice man, I hope his acting is as good as it sounds.  
"Nah, I have skype credit. So better for me to call you than for you to call insanely expensive oversea calls", I explained and adjusted my headset better to my ears.  
"You are an angel", Marco's relieved voice sighed and I couldn't prevent my snort.  
"I thought that you were the angel tonight, Angelo", I snickered, enjoying the feeling of his faked name rolling on my tongue. "Everything okay?"  
"Quite, I am in a pub now", he answered and I had to give the boy credit for keeping his role so naturally. He took a deep breath before continuing, "Oh wait a second, hun - sorry Henrik, my boyfriend called me - yeah, so - Henrik? Someone from the pub-"  
Hey, asshole, you are putting words into my mouth right now.  
"Let me talk to him", I whispered before he got anywhere longer with his monologue. "Like a worried boyfriend would."  
"Sure",  he replied before I heard the rustle of him pulling the phone off his ear and the words he told to that man he texted to me about. "Um, Henrik, he wants to talk to you if that's okay?"  
"To me? Sure", I could hear a deep voice answering, and oh, I didn't like that voice at all. It was nasal and creaky on my ears and I despised him the moment he took the phone and said his hi to me.  
["Bonsoir", I said with a voice that was hopefully dangerous."Attends, tu parles Français?", the man in my ear asked. I nodded before realising that I was actually supposed to say it out loud, too.](http://salangaani.tumblr.com/post/106977974493/chapter-15-cross-my-heart-english-translation)  
"Ouais, c'est ma langue natale. Moi c'est Jean, et t'es Henrik je présume."  
"Ouais, c'est ça."  
"Donc t'es au bar avec mon Angelo."  
"Il semblerait que j'y sois. Qu'est-ce que ça fait?"  
"Evite de toucher ce qui est à moi avec tes gros doigts gras."  
"Et qu'est-ce qu'il se passe si je le fais?"  
"Je te castre à main nues. Me teste pas, Henrik."  
"Tu fais de bien belles promesses pour quelqu'un qu'est aussi loin, Jean."  
"Le prochain avion pour Budapest arrive dans trois heures. J'ai un tracker sur Angelo. Si j'étais toi, je tenterais pas ta chance, Henrik. En plus, qu'est-ce que tu connais de ce garçon?"  
"Je sais qu'il a un sacré cul et des tâches de rousseur que je lècherais bien."  
Tu penses vraiment que je laisserai mon mec vagabonder sans lui apprendre à casser la gueule de sales porcs comme toi?" I asked and clicked my tongue, letting out a small sharp laugh that scared even myself. "Imagine pas qu'il hésiterais une seconde à te pousser dans un coin pour te couper la langue et t'étouffer avec si t'essayais de lui en rouler une. Il est dangereux, ce mec... des yeux doux et un sourire séducteur, mais en réalité il est tout sauf ça. C'est une machine de guerre, mon pote. C'est aussi mon mec. Une fois qu'il en aura fini avec toi, tu peux être sûr que je m'amuserais un peu aussi, même si je dois te ramener à la vie juste pour te refaire claquer. Donc fais toi une faveur et laisse le tranquille si tu tiens ne serait-ce qu'un peu à ta vie de merde."  
  
The silence on the line was nerve wracking - had I taken it too far, too out of the line?  
"Your boyfriend is crazy. It was nice meeting you, please tell him that I won't bother you anymore."  
Apparently I didn't.  
"Uhhuh, bye", I could hear Marco distantly, then clearer as he turned his attention to me. "You. Do I want to know what just happened?"  
"It was nothing special. I just told him to keep his meaty fingers far away from my things", I giggled, feeling somewhat relieved that Marco didn't understand French. "It worked quite well, didn't it? It was useful that he knew French, I got to be creative."  
"Jean, how many languages do you actually speak?"  
"Four?" I replied, counting quickly in my head. Four it'd be.  
"Oh, of course you do", he laughed. "That's quite cool, pony boy."  
"Hey, why are you calling me names when I just saved your arse from a random pervert? You should show some gratitude", I teased him. His reply was different from what I would have expected. He liked surprising me today, it seemed. Or then I just didn't really know him yet.  
"Mmm, maybe another time. I also wanted to apologize for earlier."  
"Ah, about that... did I say something wrong?" I carefully asked, hoping that he wouldn't end the call on me. He didn't.  
"No. Yes. Not really." Well, congrats on the clearest answer of the fucking century, man.  
"Marco, you are not making sense."  
"It's just... please don't joke about me killing you, I guess", he sighed. "It's a bit of...  I don't even know what it is. It just throws me off."  
"I will lay it down, then", I promised, not really knowing what else to say. It didn't feel appropriate to question why exactly it was so and maybe it just didn't belong to me. If he didn't want to tell me, it wasn't my place to force him to do so. Or maybe I just wasn't level 5 friend  yet so I couldn't unlock his tragic back story. Or something alike.  
  
"Thank you, Jean", Marco answered, his voice quite quiet but strong. I smiled.  
"No problem, man. When are you returning?"  
"On 10 th. So three days... or two and a half, actually."  
"That's soon", I smiled and felt the excitement flowing onto me. "I have missed you." God, that sounded dorky of me. Why was I even so eager to see him again?  
"I have missed you, too", Marco said softly across the distance between us. "But we will see each other in three days, yeah? I will come by to drop off my souvenier for you?"  
"You actually bought me something?" No way.  
"Yeah, of course I did. Is it okay if I come or should I wait for the 11 th or some other day?"  
"Oh, no no, it's completely okay. Come over whenever. When... ever you want, that is. Won't you be tired on the 10 th?" I questioned, thinking back to my own travels.  
"Not at all! I am really good at sleeping on planes so I will just probably dose off for the whole way. Reiner is getting me from the airport so I can continue sleeping in the car and sleep even more in the flat until it's evening and then come over. See, a lot of sleeping involved in this plan."  
"You are some kind of fucking sleeping god. How can anyone sleep on an aeroplane?"  
"I don't understand why people couldn't."  
"See, as I said - a sleeping god."  
  
Marco laughed his bubbling, elated laughter. My cheeks were starting to hurt from all that smiling.  
"I should probably go back to Eszter's. I might have slipped off into the night alone."  
"What happened?"  
"Nothing, actually. I just needed to get out to be somewhere else. It's a bit heavy to be so long between two lovers, I guess."  
"Oh", I mumbled. "I can imagine it getting awkward."  
"Not that awkward. It's more of... ugh, I am lame", Marco sighed. "But it makes me feel a bit... "  
"A bit?"  
"....lovesick", Marco groaned and I think I could hear the heat on his cheeks. "I said that it was lame."  
"It's not", I managed to say back. I was pretty sure that around 90% of my blood was currently circulating in my face. "It's... okay to... crave love. Isn't that quite normal?"  
"Is it?"  
"Yeah, I think it's quite common feature in humans."  
"I'm not a human, Jean."  
"But you once were. I think you have proven that you aren't just some thoughtless monster. I think it's... just normal?" I sucked at this, I really did, but I tried my best. I couldn't stand the sad tone in his voice when he talked of himself. It was wrong.  
  
He was Marco. Marco should be happy. Right?  
  
"Thank you, Jean", he chuckled. "See you on the 10 th, okay?"  
"Okay. See ya."  
  
There it was again. The emptiness in his words.  
He ended the call and I closed my computer without muttering another word and made my way to my bed.  
  
Three days would pass quickly, yeah?

***

Three days did pass quickly and yet agonizingly slow but suddenly,out of nowhere Marco was behind my door on that Tuesday morning with a smile plastered onto his freckled features.  
"Hi", he said, his voice verging shy and there was a small, one sided smile on his lips that made me feel all kinds of weird things. It wasn't even sexy. Just plain dorky. My stomach shouldn't jump at that.  
"Hi", I answered and stepped back from the door, allowing him to come in and pull the door closed behind himself. "How was the flight?"  
"Pleasant. I saw nice dreams about clouds", Marco smiled. Clouds? No, don't think about that dream. Just... don't. Don't think about the make out session up in the trees with that man who looked so much like him. Just don't. Not about how he pulled your through those trees, holding you close by - wait, trees.  
"Marco, can I see your new tattoo?"  
"Eh", he let out at my sudden question. "S-sure, I just need to strip down a little if you want to see it..."  
"That's okay. Up to my room, please, my mother's home."  
  
Just as the words left my lips, my mother walked to the kitchen door to look at us.  
"I thought that I heard your voice. Welcome back, Marco, was your travel good?"  
"It was fantastic, thank you for asking Mrs Kirstein. Oh, wait, here", he said and quickly rummaged through his back. "I am sorry it's not wrapped up or anything, but I hope that you like it", he said and pulled out a set of four small bags with flower print and the text 'paprika' on them. My mum took it carefully from his hands and sniffed at the plastic covered bags.  
"Thank you, I am sure that I will be using these a lot", she smiled. "What did you get, Jean?"  
"Oh, I haven't given him his present, yet", Marco apologized and was about to put his hands back into his bag but I stopped him by grasping a hold on his wrist.  
"He can give them later. We are going up to my room, I want to hear him telling me about his travel without your pressure, woman."  
"How rude", mum laughed and waved her hand as she turned around. "I understand, let this old woman leave you to gossip together. Take your time."  
  
We walked up the stairs to my room and Marco carefully dropped his bag onto my bed as I closed my door.  
"Here", he simply said and gave me a small plastic that he pulled out his bag. "It's nothing special, but try to live with it."  
I gave him my thanks before settling the bag on my table and pulling out first of the items which turned out to be a light bulb shaped bottle filled with... something? I gave Marco a questioning look.  
"It's palinka. Hungarian alcohol. Just a warning, it's strong, so prepare yourself before drinking that", he smiled and motioned me to continue. I pulled out a small bag of something next. Something that looked a lot like salmiak.  
"I don't really know it's name, but Réka gave me few of those candies and I was so confused. They are not salmiak but they are quite close by", he shrugged. The last thing that I pulled out of the bag was a small book. Turning it around revealed it to be a photo book, one of those that you could order and print for yourself. It's title only said 'Hungary'.  
"You like art, right?" he asked nervously. "I thought you might like it. Maybe you can look at the sceneries or architecture or something, I don't know. I'm sorry if you don't like it."  
"Shut up, Marco, I love it", I muttered, carefully opening the book and eyeing the absolutely breathtaking pictures that were plastered onto the pages. "Did you take these yourself?"  
"Uh, yeah", Marco laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm sorry it's nothing special."  
"I don't know why you studied medical things when you could just become a professional photographer if you wanted", I muttered and settled the book carefully down. "Thank you, I will have a better look at it later. Wait, don't tell me that you have already been a professional photographer in the past?"  
"Uh, no, I haven't", Marco muttered, the embarrassment dotting his cheeks with flaming red. "D-do you want to see the tattoo now?"  
"Hell yeah", I answered. Marco smiled weakly at me before unbuttoning his shirt - he seriously had to have a button up fetish or something - and turning his back to me. As he shook the shirt off, it became clear that he wasn't wearing an undershirt this time and I gulped at the sight of his back muscles.  
"Well, here it is", he said as he turned around and pointed at his left side. As if it wasn't clear enough without it.  
"Can I touch it?" I asked, stepping closer to him. I wasn't able to tear my eyes off the tattoo.  
"Sure, just be careful, it's still a bit sore", he replied and I nodded before stepping even closer, my eyes hungrily feeding at the sight in front of me.  
   
There were flowers growing on his skin, the touch of the wood spiraled around his upper arm and by the shadow of his collarbone, cast like a lingering snake. Mesmerizingly the black lines of that branch carved onto his flesh formed a picture that seemed so real that for fractions of a second I believed that my fingertips would meet with wood as I laid them down on it feather light. All that I met with was slightly bumpy, scarred skin and I felt an utter wave of confusion. It wasn't supposed to feel like skin, no. Because it was a tree, and that tree was growing in him.  
  
His eyes carefully followed my fingers that mapped out those lines, my fingertips ever so slightly sliding across his skin. His eyelashes fluttered and his gaze was laid low, his self relaxed and inviting. He was giving me the power over him there, the power to decide what to do with the touch still lingering. Giving me the change to read the shiver that shook him as my touch ghosted over his collarbone and up towards his neck on the highest blossom of that branch. Giving me the chance to wonder what it meant.  
  
Unfortunately, I didn't know. Maybe he was ticklish or cold. I couldn't see a reason for him to shiver otherwise.  
  
Unless -  
  
I rose my gaze to his face and he quietly lifted his to meet mine in unasked question.  
  
The moonlight from my window drew an almost perfect circle of light on his black hair like a halo of silver. His deep, dark eyes melted reddish under the touch of light, giving life to his pale features. Those eyes were locked onto me and there was a softness in that gaze and the curve of his mouth as he let me explore through parts of him.  
  
It didn't make sense.  
  
Unless... no.  
  
_Bathump._  
  
_Bathump._  
  
That couldn't be.  
  
I looked at the small smile that turned the corners of his mouth upwards, revealing his dimples. Just caused by short cheek muscles, so he had said once. Nothing special on them, he said. Short muscles or not, it was a beautiful sight.  
  
  
Beautiful? No... but I couldn't deny it either.  
  
  
He was beautiful. That dead boy in front of me was.  
  
  
And maybe, just for a fleeting moment there as he stood against that window with his made up halo I had wanted to kiss him.  
  
It didn't make sense.  
  
_Bathump._  
_Bathump. Bathump._  
  
_Bathump._  
  
  
Unless...  
  
_Bathump._  
  
No, that couldn't be it.  
I couldn't fall for a vampire.  
  
But for Marco?  
  
Why is he different?  
No. I didn't like Marco Bott.  
"Jean?"  
  
Wait.  
Why is that on his tattoo? Why-  
  
_Bathump. Bathump. Bathump. **Bathump**._  
  
No it couldn't be...  
  
"Jean is everything - JEAN!?"  
  
  
_Bathump._  
_Bathump._  
  
_Bathump. **Bathump**. Bathumpthumptuhm._  
  
  
Oh.  
  
Wrong call.  
It's just a heart malfunction.  
  
A heart malfunction?  
  
Oh.  
  
  
It hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French: The incredibly talented Chonideno translated Jean and Henrik's chat into French for me. I could never thank her enough for it, but here I go again: thank you so much. You helped to make this chapter so much better.
> 
> TRANSLATION: [[link]](http://salangaani.tumblr.com/post/106977974493/chapter-15-cross-my-heart-english-translation)
> 
> "Evening", I said with voice that was hopefully dangerous.  
> "Wait, you speak French?", the man in my ear asked. I nodded before realising that I was actually supposed to say it out loud, too.  
> "Sure, it's my mothertongue. My name's Jean and I presume that yours is Henrik"  
> "Yes, it is."  
> "I take it that you are at the pub with my Angelo."  
> "I guess that I am. What off it?"  
> "Please refrain from touching my things with your meaty fingers."  
> "And what if I don't?"  
> "Then I will be sure to castrate you with my bare hands. Don't try me, Henrik."  
> "You sure talk big for someone so far away, Jean."  
> "The next flight to Budapest would arrive withing three hours. I have tracker on Angelo. I wouldn't test my luck against me, Henrik. Furthermore, what do you know of that boy?"  
> "I know that he sexy arse and freckles that I wouldn't mind licking."  
> "Do you really think that I would let my boy out into the world without teaching him how to beat up perverts like you?" I asked and clicked my tongue, letting out a small sharp laugh that scared even myself.  
> "Don't think that he'd hesitate for a second to pull you behind a corner to cut of your tongue and suffocate you on it if you tried to forcefully kiss him. He's dangerous, that boy... all soft eyes and seductive smiles, but in reality he's everything but that. He's a trained combat machine, my friend. He's also mine. Once he'd be done with you, I'd be sure to take my part on the fun, even if it meant dragging you back to the book of living just to send you back again. Do yourself a favour and leave him be if you value your worthless live even a little."


	16. Are you asking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "It depends on whether you are asking or not", I replied, my lips grazing the soft denim as I spoke and let myself look back into his burning eyes. "Are you asking?"

The clouds were beautiful, my legs were hanging off their edge, toes dipped into the starry sky.    
It was beautiful.  
She was beautiful next to me.  
"I thought that you had killed me", I retorted, looking down at my hands, surprised by how each and every freckle was intact.  
"I can't kill someone who is already dead", the voice laughed, a voice that was like the last breath of dying wind on the trees. Sad.  
  
I turned to face her and saw the small, woeful smile on her lips. Her hair was running freely down to her shoulders like droplets of golden water and her lips were like torn petals of pink rosebuds, delicate and fragile. She was so small, tiny and fragile but yet she had proven to me more powerful that I ever could be.  
"So you know that I am a vampire."  
"Yes", she simply answered, keeping her eyes set forward into the distance like she had before, looking at something that she seemed to see so easily. Something that escaped me as I continued with my questions.  
"Why do you portray me as Death to him, then?"  
   
Her smile grew wider and she shifted closer to me, bending her knees and pulling them close by, leaning her head on them and looking at me.  
"You have already sensed it, haven't you?"  
"Sensed what?"  
"The change, of course. How the clocks are running out of time."  
  
She rose one of her delicate fingers and pointed forwards, where I could see the back of the dual haired man. The man who was so much like Jean but not really, either. She lazily swang her finger, the motion removing the clothes of the man and revealing the black clock on his skin.  
  
"See?" she asked. "It's pointing at eleven."  
"I don't understand."  
"Don't you know what 'eleventh hour' means?"  
"No", I said with a shake of my head. "I haven't got the slightest idea."  
"I see", she muttered and flicked her fingers, the clock turning into a barely flickering lightbulb.  
"I don't", I remarked, looking at the show before my eyes, listening to the giggle of the woman by my side.  
"But you do", she said and lifted herself up, her black dress sliding down on her frame like a shadow kissing her skin. "You just don't want to understand. So lets try again."  
  
She drew lines on the air, Northern Lights dancing off her fingers and the land far under us getting covered in the snow. Jean was standing there, without shoes, in his t-shirt and skinny jeans, looking at the lights above. Even from here I could tell that he was shivering with cold.  
"Do you understand now?" she asked, smiling softly at me, but instead of answering I just gave her my coldest stare and jumped.  
  
I fell  
fell  
  
fell  
  
and fell  
  
all the way until I hit the ground.  
  
The snow under my feet was powdery and sparkled like small diamonds, emitting small, angry grunts and snarls as I hurried towards the freezing figure.  
"Jean!" I shouted out as I got closer and the figure flinched, turning around wearing a startled expression on his face.  
"The Death?" he questioned, hugging his thin arms closer to his body. "You coming to get me?"  
"Drop it, I'm not the death", I murmured  and shook off my long black cloak and wrapped him into it. "I'm just Marco."  
"Marco?" he repeated, clenching the cloak between his long fingers.  
"Yeah, Marco", I nodded. "Your Marco."  
"What are you, my dog?" he snickered, still shaking with the cold but with a small, light smile on his blueish lips. "If I own you, that is."  
"I'm your friend", I simply said and settled my hand onto his shoulder. "Just wait a second, I am giving you shoes."  
"Why?" he asked, keeping his eyes intensely on me as I lifted my leg to pull it off, leaning on him. I set my bare foot to the snow, hissing  at the contact that felt like icy daggers even for me before repeating the motions and taking off my other shoe. I didn't answer him before I was crouched in front of him, lifting the edge of his cloak to expose his legs.  
"I'm doing it because you need these more than I do", I simply noted as I pried his foot off the ground, carefully slipping it into the too-big boot. "Much more than I do."  
"Won't you get cold?" he asked, wrapping the cloak even tighter as I tied his shoelaces and proceeded to slip the other boot on.  
"I'm dead. It doesn't really matter if I get cold", I huffed. "I mean, I can't get frostbitten like you can. So it's more important that you are okay."  
"Are you always that selfless?" Jean asked and I rose my eyes to meet with his amber eyes.  
  
They were beautiful, as always, but even more so with the burning dance of greens behind him and the snowflakes stuck on his hair that tenderly framed his features.  
"Would you do anything that was asked of you?" he asked, a blush creeping up his narrow cheeks as I realised that yes, maybe the situation we were in was slightly allusive with me crouching in front of him, my nose almost buried in his clothed crotch now that I was looking at him.  
"Well, would you?" he croaked, his eyes heavy and his mouth settled into a strict line. I let out the air from my lungs, leaning closer in. My nose and lips hovered just by the bulge in his trousers before I let my eyes fall from his.  
"It depends on whether you are asking or not", I replied, my lips grazing the soft denim as I spoke and let myself look back into his burning eyes. "Are you asking?"  
"I am."  
  
I felt a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth before nuzzling closer to him.  
"Okay", I breathed out, pressing my lips down onto a feather light kiss.  
  
"Mar-" he started, but the rest was drowned out by the stuttering whine he left out as my fingers reached out to open his fly. He slammed his hand to his mouth, biting it to silence his whine as I pulled his pants open and pressed my lips to his half hard cock that was now only covered by his thin, white boxers. I let my left hand slide up and under his shirt up to his side, pressing my thumb onto the notch by his hipbone and he whimpered against his hand, his knees clanking. I held him strongly with that hand, teasing the band of his boxers with my other as I kept mouthing at his cock through the slowly wetting fabric. His hands flew up to my hair, tangling into the strands and pulling me closer.  
"Please", he whined, biting down at his bottom lip.  
  
He looked so desperate that I decided to be merciful and I hooked my finger on his waistband and pulled his boxers down with a chuckle. I wasn't merciful enough to do it fast, though and Jean hissed as the cold air hit him as he was freed. I took in the sight in front of me for a few beats before giving his length a lick. Jean stuttered something incoherent as I took him in my mouth, swallowing down his length, hollowing my cheeks around him, emitting a moan that seemed to make me shiver all the way through my bones, filling me with a weird swirl of pleasure.  
"O-oh my god Marco you are so-" he gasped, but it was cut short in the middle as I felt something other than his hands on the back of my head pulling me against him. There was something atop my hair that... shook me awake. To my horror, I woke up to the feeling and realised that someone's fingers were gently combing through my hair.  
  
I opened my eyes hesitantly, and lifting my cheek off the bed it was resting on I met with the tired eyes of - yeah, you guessed it - Jean.  Sadly his eyes weren't tired in the 'been fucked good' way either but rather in the 'almost died way', which was a good fucking reminder of the the situation I was in.  
Oh my fucking god. How thirsty are you? Stop thinking, Marco. Just stop oh my god.  
  
Wait.  
  
Please tell me I didn't make any voices. Please.  
It's critical for my survival.  
  
"What happened?" Jean then croaked, weakly pointing at the nasal cannula that he was wearing. I couldn't let out a word because I was still too busy realising that I had just dreamed of sucking off the guy whose hospital bed I was drooling on. It wasn't on the list of the things that I had ever thought that I would, uh, need to realise.  
"I'm in the hospital?" Jean continued questioningly after a moment of my silence, sliding his fingers through my hair one last time before pulling away with an apologetic smile.  
"Umn", I muttered, carefully lifting my hands to touch the hair he had ruffled just to clear out that he had really done it. I could still feel the linger of his touch. The linger of the tug that I had felt on my dream.  "You kind of had a heart failure yesterday?"  
"A heart failure?" Jean asked, knitting his eyebrows together. "Wow. Okay. Wait, yesterday? What day is today?"  
"Yes, yesterday.", I confirmed. "And today is 27 th of June and it's a fine, bright Wednesday", I continued and slid my own hand down to carefully touch his. "Look", I said, and squeezed his hand. Jean gave it a look, staring at the plastic around his finger before giving me a confused look.  
"That's a pulse ox", I explained. "They are keeping a look at your pulse and oxygen levels, which are apparently low based on you wearing a nasal cannula."  
"Nasal cannula? This oxygen moustache thing?"  
"I guess you could call it that, too", I hummed before straightening myself and distracting any bodily contact we had. I didn't need reminders of how he felt. "I should probably call for the nurse now that you are awake."  
"Don't", Jean muttered, closing his eyes with a grunt. "I am too tired to deal with them."  
"Jean, this is about your health", I simply said and pushed the nurse button next to his bed before he had a chance to mutter another word. "And that was a bit rude of me but I don't want to go walking to the hallway. I think I burned myself the last time that I did." Jean flinched at that.  
"Marco", he started, dragging his tongue in a way that made it seem heavy as metal. Also kind of hot. Shut your thoughts Marco. Reality call. Jean's talking to you.  
"I don't... you... I... have you been here... the whole time?" he said, his voice full of disbelief. Good. Hang onto that. No one sounds like that in sexual acts, Marco. This is your reality. You are not sucking him off. Not now, not ever.  
"Yes", I simply replied with a  shrug, as if I hadn't just had a lengthy battle of words inside my head. "Of course I have stayed here.."  
"Of c-", he started before letting out grunt of incredulity. "You are an fucking idiot. Why?"  
"Because you are my friend", I retorted with a rise of my eyebrow. "Does it bother you?"  
"No!" he quickly exclaimed, blushing as he realised how loud he was. "No", he repeated much more quietly. "But dude, are you okay?"  
"Okay? You ask me if I am okay after almost dying. You have nerve, Jean Kirstein. You truly have", I sighed and shook my head.  
"What's the time, Marco?"  
"Huh?"  
"I asked you what the damn time is."  
  
I stared quietly at his stern features before picking up my phone and waking up the screen. "Eleven forty seven."  
"It's almost noon?" he double checked, his face getting sterner and sterner.  
"Yes. Your mum left to sleep two hours ago, by the way. She will be back later."  
"Why... are you here, Marco?" The anger in his voice was clear. I didn't follow his train of thoughts at all, tho.  
"I already said that-" I tried but Jean cut me of with a wave of his hand.  
"No, not that way", he sighed. "Why did you stay when you knew it'd only bring trouble? Now you can't leave before evening, can you?"  
"I... can't, that's true", I nodded, rubbing the back of my neck. "But it's okay."  
"How is it okay that you are getting hurt because I am hurt?" Jean spit out, turning his face away from me. "How is that fair?"  
"Huh?"  
  
Neither Jean nor I had time to say anything more before the door of the room opened and a nurse with strawberry blonde hair walked in.  
"Hello, Jean. Glad to see that you woke up."  
"Petra?" Jean questioned, looking surprised. "Aren't you in the EKG room?"  
"That's not the only thing that I do", the nurse - Petra - said with a smile. "I am a general nurse with heart and blood circulation patients as my main concern. How are you feeling?"  
"Tired", Jean simply answered, shrugging slightly. "And a bit off. They gave me meds?"  
"Lots of them", Petra nodded and looked down at the papers in her hands. "I would like to talk about you what happened, but your friend is here -"  
"He can stay", Jean said, carefully sliding his hand to touch mine. "It's okay. I don't mind." Petra moved her eyes between us, meeting Jean's determined expression and mine that was probably quite surprised. She blinked slowly before pulling out a chair for herself and nodded.  
"Okay, then. Lets start."  
  
Jean nodded and curled his pinky around mine as I started pulling off my hand. I obeyed, keeping my hand in place, curling my own finger to meet his. I could see the corner of Jean's mouth turning up slightly. Control your thoughts, Marco.  
"So", Petra started, giving her papers a glance. "I am pretty sure that you are full of hearing this, but..."  
"... they don't know what caused it", Jean finished for her, his voice monotonous as he raised his eyebrows as if this was any casual conversation. Petra nodded.  
"Usually heart attacks are caused my blood clots getting stuck in the heart and preventing a part of it from getting oxygen. The heart muscle starts dying and - oh, well, it doesn't matter. The fact still remains that there are no clots in your blood", she sighed and shook her head. "We obviously know about the holes in your heart, but seeing that they were fixed when you were a kid it doesn't make sense. We took new pictures of it and it looks perfectly fine. We can't find a reason for this."  
"So basically my heart just decided to fuck it up?" Jean eloquently asked, rising his eyebrows. Petra chuckled a little.  
"I guess you could put it like that. Oh, now that I remember - thank you for the flowers the other day."  
"My pleasure... is the person you were worried for okay?" Jean questioned and I laid a long look between him and Petra. I had no idea what their relationship was like since it didn't appear to be a simple nurse-patient one. It was weird, the air between them.  
"She's better now", Petra nodded. "Got out of the hospital last week. She should recover perfectly."  
"I am so glad to hear that. Sorry, I really was an asshole that day", Jean grimaced and everything in his body language screamed that it took a lot of him to admit that. "Sorry."  
"No no, I wasn't being a decent nurse either", Petra laughed and shook her head. "I guess we just met each other on a bad day."  
"I guess", Jean muttered. "When am I getting out of here?"  
"Hmm, that's a good question", Petra muttered and skimmed through her papers. "They naturally want to run a few more tests because we still don't know what the hell happened, but if you seem to be okay you should get out within a few days."  
"That's delightful", Jean muttered and sighed. "Sorry, but I hate hospitals."  
"Don't worry, I hate being a patient in one", Petra said with a tender smile. "But I love working here. For now, I think this is it. Your pulse looks nice and your oxygen levels a bit better- keep it up and we might be able to remove you from extra oxygen before the night."  
"Yay", Jean muttered. "Won't have to wear plastic moustache on my face anymore."  
"Yep, so aim for that", the nurse nodded and rose up. "Two more things - your hemoglobin seems to be a little down from your normal numbers. It's not anemia, but we might end up giving you iron just in case. Secondly, I think it's good if you know now that you are not advised to do any heavy exercise for the two following months."  
"Two?" Jean winced, his face falling. "What does 'heavy exercise' include?"  
"Basically anything that makes you sweat more than just a little", Petra shrugged. "Doctor will tell you more about it. If your body seems to be recovering fine, you might get off with one month. Any questions?"  
Jean shook his head.  
"Good. I will be back in the late afternoon, or before it if the bell is ringed. Your food should arrive around two. Don't hesitate to ring us if you feel any discomfort, have hard time breathing or anything, basically. I trust your friend to keep an eye on you because your face is telling me that you won't ring me up."  
"Damn it", Jean groaned dramatically before smiling to Petra. "I am okay. See you later."  
"See you", Petra said with a small smile and walked out the room.  
  
So.  
That was interesting.  
I gave a questioning look to Jean as he turned his attention back to me.  
"Please don't ask", he simply said and shook his head. "I was pretty horrible to her once."  
"And sent her flowers?"  
"Yeah, as an apology", he sighed. "Well, too bad they don't know what caused that little scene."  
"Little scene?" I questioned and he nodded.  
"Yeah, my heart attack."  
"That was not 'a little scene', Jean!" I exclaimed, throwing my hands up in the air. "You could have died!"  
"I could die anytime", he answered with a shrug. "I am just a human, after all."  
"You", I said and leaned forward. "Won't die before you are old and wrinkly, okay?" Jean stared into my eyes and didn't flinch even though I was growling right by his face. Actually, after a few seconds, his eyes slipped downwards before jumping back to meet mine.  
"I can't promise that", he said calmly. "None of us can. Anything could happen, Marco. That's just life."  
I kept my gaze on him, unmoving until he pushed me a bit further away from my shoulder, a slight redness creeping up to his cheeks. "A bit of personal space, please man."  
"Oh, sorry", I muttered, even thought I wasn't sorry at all. I sat back down to my chair. "Do you remember what happened, Jean?"  
"What do you mean? My attack?" he questioned, looking unamused and simply bored. I gave him a stern look.  
"Yeah", I said and he hummed silently.  
"Yes and no. It's a bit hazy... wait", he suddenly said, his eyebrows shooting up and eyes snapping onto mine. "Marco,  take off your shirt."  
  
_What?_  
I blinked dumbly.  
"Errr, Jean -"  
"Just take it off", Jean prompted. "I need to make sure of something."  
"But we are in the hospital, I can't just take off my shirt here", I coughed, looking around. It was true that his room was a single, but still...  
"You can. Patient's orders. The door window is covered, no-one will see you."  
"What if someone comes in?" I asked, nervous. Time to calm down your imagination Marco. It was just a dream goddamnit. Jean clicked his tongue, clearly annoyed.  
"Then I will explain. Hurry the fuck up."  
  
I rubbed my nose, trying to come up with something that could get me off the hook but Jean's gaze was demanding.  
"Jeez, alright alright!" I sighed and rose up. "I'll do it! Why do you even want to see me shirtless?"  
"As said, to make sure of something", Jean shrugged, his eyes keen on my hands as I reached for the first button. They didn't leave me as I unbuttoned the second and I could feel blood slowly making its way to my face. There's a limit of how much I can ignore and his stare was way too close to the one I had seen after tying his shoes. Even though it was a dream. It was a dream Marco, calm the fuck down.  
"Jean, could you... not stare", I muttered.  "I feel like a stripper."  
"Oh, shit, sorry!" Jean gasped, turning his head and gaze to the side, his cheeks setting aflame. He gulped and kept his gaze pointedly at the door as I opened the rest of the buttons and shrugged my shirt off, silently sighing small prayers of thanks to whoever was possibly listening to my thoughts.  
"I'm ready, you can turn", I said as I set down my shirt to the chair I sat on. He turned, his eyes slowly rising up from my stomach to shoulder, staying there.  
"Could you lean closer?" he asked, looking apologetic. "I don't really have that much energy to straighten myself."  
"Yeah, sure", I muttered and leaned forward, letting him pull me closer. His eyes were set on my shoulder and it felt like he was trying to burn holes into my skin with his eyes.  
"Is there something wrong with my tattoo?" I questioned. Jean didn't react to my words so I repeated my question. He didn't react to that either and I was starting to worry that he had gotten another heart attack or  a seizure or something before he suddenly lifted his gaze to my eyes.  
"Marco", he said, the tremble in his voice taking me by surprise. "Why do you have that in your tattoo?"  
"That?" I asked and Jean pulled me again, just a little bit closer to him to tap on my shoulder with his other hand. I turned to look at what he was pointing, letting out a small 'oh'.  
"You see", I started, wondering how to tell the story. "I used to climb this tree when I was younger." Jean flinched again, his eyes huge and his lips parted. I eyed him worriedly before continuing. "And uh, once, at some point, someone carved that into it. I know it's just two crossed swords that look like a coat of arms but I liked it and - are you alright?"  
  
Jean's eyes were jumping between my face and my hand and he was shaking his head like he couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. His fingers on my arm were shaking.  
"Was... was it an apple tree, Marco?" he choked out, locking his eyes back to mine. "I-in an old garden?"  
"Yes", I nodded. "How did you -"  
"When you were younger?"  
"Wha-"  
"You climbed there when you were younger?" Jean continued, his trembling fingers pressing painfully hard into my hand. "For real?"  
"Yes, but why-"  
"I carved that."  
  
I stared at him silently, not sure where my voice ran off but it sure as hell wasn't with me at that moment. Jean opened his mouth a few times before he just grimaced. "I carved that", he repeated and slowly let go of my hand, dropping his to the bed. "I carved that."  
"You... carved this?" I managed to whisper, my voice barely audible. Jean nodded.  
"I used to see that in my dreams. Made it my sign", he huffed and ran his free hand through his hair. "There was this garden by grandma's house, and one day I carved that into one of the trees -do you know why, Marco? Do you know why I carved it?"  
"No", I tackled out. The time felt like it had stopped as Jean met with my eyes again.  
"Because there was a boy", he whispered. "There was a boy who'd cry in that tree."  
  
I think my heart stopped.  
Jean was barely breathing either as I drowned in the depths of his eyes and everything was spinning.  
It couldn't be.  
_No._  
It was simply impossible.  
That could never happen. No.  
  
"I lived with my grandma for a few years", Jean continued, hesitating. "So I saw this boy more than once. Or, well, I never really saw his face. Just his bruised feet from my window when he sat there... and I... I could hear him crying, you know? I couldn't be more than ten if even that. I had made the symbol my sign of being strong and I- I, uh, used to believe that it was a mark of being a soldier", he ended with a small, broken chuckle. His face almost unbearable to look at with its ragged emotions. Not that I believed mine to be any prettier.    
"So I climbed that tree Marco, one day after he left and carved that there. To cheer him up, or so I hoped."  
I was shaking by now, and so was Jean but he still reached out for my hand. For once I was glad that I didn't need to breath because surely I couldn't have. Not there. Not then.  
"That boy was..." Jean whispered, his voice cracking before he let his words hang heavy in the air as his fingers closed around mine. I gasped for breath, no matter how stupid it was as I felt a teardrop falling down to my cheek.  
"Yes", I breathed out. "Me."  
  
Jean's eyes blew out even wider and he shook his head in disbelief.  
"But.. Marco... how... how..." he fought for the words, gripping tighter onto my fingers. "But if it was you, y-you were... a kid w-when I w-was... how... long have you...?" he asked, his eyes having lost all tranquility that had lingered in them, wide with storming, scattered emotions that I couldn't read.  
I couldn't think. I couldn't speak. I couldn't do anything but let the sobs rake through me.  
  
I don't know how he had the power to do it, but Jean leaped forward and tied his arms around my shaking form.  
"Oh my god", he whispered next to my ear. "Oh my god, oh my god." I buried my face into his neck, hiccuping my sobs out uncontrollably.  
"Marco I-"  
"T-two ye-years", I breathed out. "T-t-t-two  y-y--y-years, Jean. I-it's b-been t-t-two years."  
  
It had only been two years.  
Two years since I had died.  
Two years since I had ceased to exist.  
  
... two years since I was murdered so that I would stay alive.


	17. The Trost Bridge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well", he whispered dramatically, "it all started on a night when I was very, very high-"  
> "High? You? You did drugs?" I cut him off. He? Out of all people?  
> "No. I would have said that when I was very high up on the top of the bridge, but you didn't really give me a change."

I am pretty sure I had never been as close to heart failure before in my life than there and then, catching his shaking form in my arms with the endless ring of 'oh my gods' draping over any sensible thoughts that must once have had. And you know, they actually operated my heart when I was two and I almost didn't make it out of that. Oh wait, I almost died of one yesterday. I should probably worry.  
But no.  
Right now I can't.  
I need to support the crying boy leaning on me.  
I need to support Marco.  
  
It felt like a small eternity - in which I couldn't do anything else than hold him and calm my mind - before he stopped crying and slowly untangled himself from my arms and pushed me against my pillows, taking my hand between his own, muttering "I'm sorry".  
"There's nothing to apologize for, Marco."  
  
He lifted a corner of his mouth in something that was probably supposed to be a smile but didn't have the power to become one. I squeezed his hand before pulling mine free to help myself to shuffle over to the side of the bed. Marco looked at me, curiosity sparkling quietly in his eyes as they met mine. I patted the space next to me and nodded. Marco blinked a few times, clearly unsure of what was going on and I patted the bed harder.  
"Do you want me to...?" he croaked, clearing his throat. I nodded and patted the space again, squeezing myself even closer to the side of the bed. Marco carefully heaved himself over the edge, after kicking off his shoes. It took a lot of awkward shuffling and an elbow almost at my eye before he managed to turn himself to lay down comfortable next to me. He was laying on his side, a bit lower on the bed than me and he looked up to me with a bashful smile.  
"This okay?" he asked. I nodded and carefully settled my hand to his hair, running my fingers through it a second time for the day.  
"Do you mind?" I asked, slowly playing with the coal coloured strands.  
"No", he whispered with a small smile. "Not at all. It feels nice."  
"Do you... want to talk about it or something?" I asked, wavering.  
"About what?" Marco questioned, letting his eyes fall closed. "About me?"  
"Yeah, about you."  
"Maybe later", he sighed and brought his hands in front of him, close by his chest. "If you want me to be honest, Jean... I'd rather like a hug or something now."  
   
 Well... if Marco Bott asks for a hug, then a hug is he given. That's a new law, by the way.  
  
I carefully turned to my side to face him, keeping my right hand on his hair and reaching out with my left, wrapping lightly over his shoulder, mindful of his tattoo. Marco chuckled under his breath before grabbing the front of my shirt with his hands and pulling himself closer to me, nestling his face to my chest.  
"This okay?" he requestioned, not even bothering to look at me.  
"Y-yeah", I tackled out and tightened my hand around him. "It's okay."  
Marco didn't say anything more. He kept his breath calm and his eyes closed, shaking a little now and then but I managed to calm him down by playing with his hair. Actually managed to calm him very well, because next that I knew his breathing was even deeper and the boy was asleep in my arms. Not that I was one to talk, since at some point after adoring - shut your mouth before you even start - his face for a while I felt drowsiness taking over myself, too. I still had the mind to pull my cover atop both me and Marco before completely losing my touch with reality and falling asleep.  
For once, I didn't see the petite blonde girl who kept talking about death to me or Marco.  
I am actually pretty sure I didn't see dreams at all.

But sadly, once again, I didn't dream my mum waking me up with the shutter noise. Talk about déjà vu... though, this time, as I stared into her eyes as she lowered her phone I realised that I wasn't the one topless.  
"Morning, sweetheart", she said quietly as she pocketed her phone. "Is he still sleeping?"  
I nodded after stealing a quiet gaze at Marco, still very much nuzzled against me.  
"The nurses told me that you were so cute they didn't dare to wake you up for supper. They have more picture proof, by the way."  
"What!?" I hissed through my teeth. Mum chuckled behind her hand.  
"Yeap. They said that you two are a really cute couple."  
"We are not a couple", I muttered, sighing.  
"You should probably tune down getting caught sleeping entangled together with one of you shirtless if you want people to believe so", mum mocked with a smile. "You really aren't?"  
"No."  
"Why is he sleeping here?"  
"It might have something to do with staying behind after you left."  
"But in your bed?"  
"We had... an emotionally heavy moment", I muttered, feeling my cheeks set aflame. "Which tired him out totally, so I loaned him space to sleep on."  
"Is that so?"  
"Mum. Please. You should probably be asking about my heart and not this", I groaned, lowering my voice only when Marco moved a little in my hold. He didn't wake up, though.  
"I don't have to, I already asked the nurses." Wow. Her voice sure got heavy.  
"Mum... "  
"Mm?"  
"So you know?"  
"Know what, sweetheart?"  
"That they still don't know."  
Mum smiled sadly and nodded. "Yeah."  
"What do you think about it?" I questioned, clearing my throat. Good time to lift some cats up to the table.  
"About what?" she asked, the look in her eyes concerned.  
"My life expectation. I know that they are talking about it."  
Mum stiffened up, her eyes surprised as they met mine.  
"Jean, how do you -"  
"I'm not a child anymore. I asked to read through my papers", I shrugged and smiled at her. "I'm not a child, mum."  
"Ah", was all that mum could mutter as a reply. I looked at her quietly.  
"Do you think I will make it till then?"  
"What do you mean, 'till then'", she said with a scattering voice. "You will live to be old."  
"Doctors don't think so and I know that you know it."  
  
She settled into silence, playing with the hair that had escaped her bun for a while.  
"I don't think this is the moment to talk about it", she silently murmured. "You have a sleeping boy in your arms. I wouldn't want him waking up to this. Or does he know?"  
"He doesn't. I don't think I should tell him, either. Not... now", I sighed and looked down at Marco. "I'm not sure if he could handle knowing that right now."  
"Something bad in his life?" mum asked, leaning closer with a worried look.  I knew her eyes were drawn to the scars on Marco's exposed hand. I carefully cleared my throat again to get her attention back to me.  
"A lot, but it's not my place to tell it", I replied. Not that I would really know but... I think I knew enough to know that. Mum's face melted into understanding. Then worry.  
"But I really think that he likes you, Jean."  
"I don't", I answered sternly with a shake of my head. "Furthermore, mum... I don't think that I want a relationship. Not now that I know that... I probably won't make it."  
Because I don't want to leave someone behind like dad left mum.  
I have seen how much it _hurts_.  
Mum flinched, her hands tightening around the purse on her lap.  
"You can't say that, Jean. You can't give up."  
"I'm not giving up. I'm facing reality."  
"Last time we talked, you said that you wouldn't die soon, not like your father. Did you read your papers after that?"  
"Yes", I admitted. "I did."  
"Ignore having read them, then", mum said and her voice was coloured in command. "Don't give up because of someone else's guess."  
"I said that I am not giving up", I muttered. "But I can't ignore that either. Neither should you."  
"I am going to ignore it the best that I can", mum replied and stared at me. "And I expect you to do the same and live your life to the fullest."  
"You are running away."

I didn't mean to say it.  
It just slipped away from my lips.  
**Loud.**  
I could feel Marco stirring in my hands, but he didn't open his eyes.  
"Excuse me?" mum breathed out. Well. Too late to take it back.  
"You are running away. From reality. Like you did with dad."

Daggers.  
Daggers everywhere.  
My voice was merciless against her skin.  
"Why don't you just give up? It'd hurt less if you just accepted it."  
"I won't-"  
"Do it!" I snapped. Mum flinched again.  
Don't.  
Don't say it.  
"You are just hurting me by playing ignorant."  
Stop.  
_Stop it_ , Jean.  
"You are not letting me face it. You refuse to face it and you refuse to face me. You always change the topic if it's close to my illness."  
Stop.  
"It's cruel. You are cruel."  
Now  
now you have done it, Jean.  
Look at the anger in her eyes.  
She is going to hit you.  
  
I closed my eyes and waited for the impact, but the hand never met with my skin.  
"I understand that you are hurt and that this is not my place to interfere, Mrs Kirstein, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't hit your son."  
It was Marco's voice.  
I pried my eyes open and saw Marco holding my mother's hand by the wrist. He hadn't even moved otherwise, his face still buried into my chest, but he had stopped her hand.  
"Go", Marco said. "Go somewhere. Have a cup of coffee. Come back when you are calmer." With that he let her go and finally turned his head to face her. "Go."  
She left, without saying a word.  
  
"How much did you hear?" I asked a few beats after the door closed behind her, worrying my lower lip. This could be bad.  
"That she won't face you", Marco muttered and drew himself a bit further away from me but kept his hand on my side. "You okay?"  
"Quite so", I replied. "It was good to get that off of my chest. Ugly but good."  
"I understand the feeling", he sighed and smiled sadly. "I hope that you can discuss... what ever it was that you fought about."  
"We have to", I replied with a hum. "Or we can't move onwards."  
"You are really behind what you said, huh."  
"I am. Could have said it nicer, though. A lot nicer."  
"Sometimes, thing's need to be said in a rougher habit to be fully understood", Marco mused. "Some things cannot be said nicely."  
"Like what?" I questioned.  
"My past, for example."  
  
There was that silence again.  
"Marco."  
"Mmm'm?"  
"Do you want to talk about it?"  
"Maybe a little."  
"A little?"  
"You are curious, aren't you?"  
"Well, yes", I replied, "But I also want to respect your boundaries. If that's how you say it."  
"Wow, how eloquent of you", Marco snickered. "I am impressed."  
"Haha, very funny, I know I suck at this."  
"Well, it was very kind of you anyways", Marco smiled. "And I guess you'd like to know how I came to be a vampire?"  
"Yeah, if that's okay with you."  
"It is. But it's no happy story, Jean."  
"Somehow I think I knew that already."  
"Mmm."  
We settled into silence and I was unsure of what to do.  
"As you found out, it was two years ago", Marco suddenly started, not looking at me. After a few seconds of silence he rose his eyes to meet mine and it became clear that he expected me to take part of this instead of just listening.  
"It's hard to believe", I breathed out, not really knowing what I should tell him. "You seem so composed about it."  
"Hey now,I used to go to same school as you", he laughed "And yeah... I think I have gone forward a lot", he admitted with a shrug.  "I am starting to wonder about how true the eternity thing is, tho."  
"You don't know?"  That... was a pretty shocking, actually. I thought it'd be clear yes/no kind of thing.  
"No", Marco reaffirmed. "I don't know. The vampire that turned me told me that he's seven hundred years old and his partner is five hundred and fifty. Next to them I know someone who claims to be a thousand years old and I would be surprised if it was a lie."  
"Holy fuck." Wow Jean. Maybe you really deserved that eloquent medal earlier on.  
"I am not sure that anything holy is possible around vampires."Fuck you Bott. This is not the time to joke.  
"Well, but... I mean", great, keep it up Jean. "How did you even get turned? Since the bite doesn't do it, which I know from personal experience."  
"The guy put some of his own blood into my bloodstream and that did the magic", Marco hummed and raised his eyebrows at my questioning face.  
"...but... how", I repeated. How do you just end up getting vampire blood to your bloodstream is the question of the month. So why didn't it come out of my mouth?  
"How did I end up in the position where that happened?" Marco asked, flexing his shoulder. Well not exactly what I was after, but it would do.  
"Yeah. Something like that."  
"Well", he whispered dramatically, "it all started on a night when I was very, very high-"  
"High? You? You did drugs?" I cut him off. He? Out of all people?  
"No. I would have said that when I was very high up on the top of the bridge, but you didn't really give me a change."

Uh. Oops? I offered him a sorry smile before asking for confirmation. "Atop the bridge? Do yo mean the Trost bridge?"  
"Yeah. Trost bridge is where I died", Marco replied with a chuckle. Marco. You are not supposed to chuckle at that.  
"It's right next to my home." That was all I managed to reply, my eyes drawn to his all-too-calm features. Why was he so _calm_. We were talking about his death here.  
"I know. Your old home wasn't that close to it though", Marco nodded and smiled. Which was true but....wait. _What?_  
"What?" I yelped cleverly, blinking rapidly. Had I told him where my old home was? When? I can't remember-  
"I used to walk by your old house because I'd often see you in the window. Made me calmer", he explained matter of factly. I shook my head in disbelief (and to clear my thoughts) before responding. "Why the fuck would my face make you calmer?"  
"Humans work in curious ways", Marco laughed and shook his head before settling his face. "It wasn't the first time I hung around the Trost bridge. How ever, that night I climbed all the way up to the top. After breaking into the maintenance ladders, that is. Didn't yet have superpowers to climb up the side."  
"I don't know why but that was somewhat calming to hear." It was.  
"Thanks."  
"But why the fuck where you there?" I didn't like the feeling his speech was giving me. Marco drew his eyes away from mine, laying them low before smiling a little.  
"To end my life. Most likely. It's a bit hazy memory."  
  
I knew that I was staring and I knew that I was being rude with it, but I couldn't stop. I was baffled with the casual way that the words left his lips.  
"B-but... why?" I stuttered, looking for tips on his calm features. Nothing seemed to have changed - his eyes were still heavy and downcast and yet there was that small sad smile playing on his lips.  
"Life sucked. Didn't remember how feeling happy felt anymore. Had been depressed for ages and I got regularly beaten up at home. Didn't really see the point of going on anymore." His answer was clear and there was no hesitation in his voice. He handled it way better than I did.  
"Beaten... at home... holy fuck, I though that you had the perfect family!" That might not have been the best way to reply but it was all that I could get out of myself. Marco chuckled again.  
"Why so?" he asked, his smile softer than moments before and finally met my eyes again.  
"Because", I breathed out. "You always... are so composed. About everything. You seem like someone who had a stable and loving home growing up."  
"Ah, I see. Don't worry, it doesn't really matter...  and don't worry about my family. Everyone thought that we were the ideal thing. Except me", Marco smiled, trying to wave it off. Wrong move, Bott. That's not how we are going to deal with this.  
"But it's not right! You shouldn't have gone through that!"  
  
I was furious.  
Furious at the idea that Marco had been hurt.  
Hurt by the ones that were supposed to _love_ him.  
Desperate to have him understanding it and not waving it off like a joke.  
_Who_ could meaningfully hurt Marco Bott?  
_Who_ could live with themself after hitting someone with such warmth in them?

"It doesn't matter anymore, Jean. Do you want to know how I got turned or not?"  
I felt the change in his tone, and as I was pretty sure that my possibilities were 1) saying ok and listening to his story or 2) going on about his family, he leaving the room and kicking me out of his life. I opted for the first one and nodded. But I couldn't stop thinking, not when he nodded back and changed his pose a bit.

 _What happened, Marco?_  
_Why?_  
_Didn't anyone help you? Didn't anyone care?_  
_How... how are you still so kind when the world only seems to have hurt you?_

"So", Marco started, cutting my thought process. "Up on the bridge I sat, looking down to the road under me. It was pretty, with the lights of cars driving by. I wondered what would happen when I jumped - would I hit a car or the road, would I die or be unfortunate enough to end up in the hospital in a vegetable state.  Stuff like that. Wondered what my headline in the magazine would be, you know? 'Trost University student jumped to his death on Trost Bridge late Friday night?' or something less flashy like 'A man killed himself on Trost Bridge'. About whether they'd keep a silent moment on my campus and whether or not anyone would cry. I ended up at the decision that people would only cry out of shock if at all." He closed his eyes, humming a little.  
"I am basically counting down cars, deciding to jump at forty ninth that I'd count - I don't know why that number, to be honest. It just felt right back then. However, when I reached thirty in my counting someone suddenly pulled me away from the edge. All I could think was 'fuck' and I turned around, thinking I'd see a cop but no - I saw-" he cut his speech suddenly, gulping down the name that almost escaped his lips. He took a few breaths before continuing as if nothing had happened. "The vampire who turned me. He's a good guy, and we already kind of knew each other. Well, despite the vampire part. Had seen him around campus."  
"Are you implying that there are more vampires in the Uni?" I asked, kind of thrown aback by the idea. Not what I expected.  
"More than you'd think. You know some", he snorted. He fucking snorted.  
"I know some?" Now, let me go through all the people I know in my head for hours to end to realise who it could be and how I could be blind enough not to notice. Great.  
"Yep. No, I won't tell you any names Jean." Shit.  
"Why?" I asked, batting my eyelashes. Marco just shook his head at my show.  
"Because it's their decision whether they want you to know or not. We usually don't trust others that much, you know?"  
"Naturally, I guess." It wasn't like Marco would have eagerly told me about his state either if I... hadn't kind of forced him to, I guess. Not that I would regret it but... yeah.  
"Yep. But well. Back to the bridge, shall we?" Marco asked, clearly uncomfortable with the topic based on the wrinkle on his forehead. I nodded.  
"Sure."  
"Good. So, I am staring at this guy and he goes 'I knew something was the matter. I knew today was somehow worse of a day. I had a feeling that you'd come here but stuff kept me away until now. Thank god I made it here in time' and I just stare at him open mouthed.  He lets go of me and I don't dare to move an inch. Then he makes a weird offer." It was time for Marco to take another deep breath, and he locked his eyes on mine.  
"'Listen, Marco' he said. 'I know that you are scared. Scared of the shit going back at your home, scared and tired of living anymore. I don't want you to be scared anymore'. I know I told him that he doesn't know a fuck and he just shrugs his shoulders and says 'well, however, I have an offer for you'. I, naturally, ask him what the offer is. 'I can make it so that you don't have to be scared of anything else than eternity. If you give me a chance'. I told him that he couldn't do such a thing, and he asked me if there is anything for me to lose in letting him try. He looked like a sick puppy and he had already kind of ruined my suicide attempt, so I told him that sure, go on, show me." Marco snapped his mouth closed for the second time, his brows deeply furrowed.  
"I know this is a bit late to ask, but do you get sick by gore details?"  
I shook my head and he silently nodded, giving me the 'don't say I didn't warn you' eyes before continuing.  
"So, he uh. Rips open his own wrist. With his teeth. Before I even have the chance to scream he manages to slit open mine with his nail and has pressed our wrists together. It doesn't take even a minute before he removes his hand from mine and shows me a healed cut. 'See', he says. 'I don't have to fear death'. At that point I sadly fainted, so I don't know whether he had something else to say. Next morning, or I don't know if it was the next, I wake up in his flat and well... a lot happened."  
"A lot?" I don't like the sound of this. At all.  
"I managed to figure out that he literally meant that I don't need to fear death within a week", Marco grimaced, looking a little ashamed. "It was a bit crazy. I was a bit crazy. Without too much details. I tried a few other things the next following months until he told me that he's utterly done with cleaning my blood from the floor.  So I stopped."  
"I... see." I did. Marco in pools of blood in my head. I did not like it.  
"I guess you didn't expect that?" he chuckled. Oh god how I hoped he would stop that. It was so wrong. So wrong. So wrong wrong _wrong_.  
"I most definitely didn't", I managed to reply, sounding surprisingly human as I tried to hush away the bloodied images from my eyes.  
"Mm'm. I am not as perfect as people think."  
  
_Oi, Marco. Don't._  
_You have no idea what you are like, do you?_  
_You don't think that you are great, do you?_  
_Oh no, you don't._  
_Not with that smile that you keep on, you just don't._

"Sure, you are not, but I think I like you better this way", I said. Desperate, desperate to get my message across. Too bad that I was never good with words.  
"...what do you mean?" His voice was low and silent, almost like a whisper. As if he didn't believe what I had said. He probably didn't, now that I think of it.  
"You... don't have to pretend to be happy like nothing ever hurt you. I like the real you, with issues and everything. There's more depth to you like this."  Maybe it's time I go and learn to speak before opening my cake hole again.  Marco stared at me like I had lost my mind, and he didn't stop. I could feel cold sweat forming on my back. Maybe it hadn't been a very eloquent idea to tell someone that I liked them more than before after finding out about their suicidal past? Just maybe, Jean, you should think a little bit more.  
"I, uh, didn't mean anything bad or to hurt you by it I just -"  
"Shut your mouth Jean Kirstein, that was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me and I could really, _really_ kiss you right now."

That did shut me up.  
I closed my mouth with an audible snap of my teeth clanking together. After three seconds or so Marco seemed to register what he had said and flared red.  
"Out of gratitude. You know the feeling when you are so thankful that you just want to smooch the person who said whatever happened to make you happy?" he explained, his hands making shaky gestures to the air between us. If his cheeks were red, mine were like a fucking police sirens'.  
"I... guess so", I choked out. Smooth Jean, smooth.  
"Yeah. So. No creepy intentions. Don't worry."  
"Sure. It's not like I'd have killed you over it anyways", I snorted before it hit me how wrong that might have been to say and how absofuckinglutely idiotic a person I could be sometimes. Marco read my expression before I managed to start my 'oh god I am so sorry I swear I didn't mean it' speech and rose his hand to silence me. By raised I mean that he rose it up to cover my lips.  
"No harm done, Jean. That would have been completely normal thing to say if I was a human", he said and withdrew his hand. Good. I felt faint from all the blood rushing to my cheeks.  
"But you are a vampire!" I whined.  
"I know", he snorted. What a dork.  
"I just, kind of, accidentally made fun of your immortality and man I just really am sorry and-" but of course mister perfect wouldn't have any of it. Not now.  
"Jean, you are rambling. Also, I won't get suicidal for talking about death or anything. Not anymore. So you don't have to worry", Marco said, smiling a little at me.  
"How did... no... are you sure?" I asked, feeling just about as stupid as before. None of my questions seemed admissible tonight.  
"Yeah. I am. I am kind of happy actually?" he replied without missing a beat.  
"You are?" Wow. Jean. Rude. You are rude.  
"Yeah. Of course I am. You look lost."  
It was great to hear that my face was that easy to read.  
"I kind of am", I admitted. Marco's smile just grew wider and he shook his head.  
"But of course I am. But I should probably go, you look dead tired. I'll call Annie and get her to drive me home so don't worry about me."  
"Are you sure?" I muttered, feeling the tiredness seeping into my bones as he nodded back at me. "You are right, I need to sleep... what's the time?"  
"Uh", Marco muttered and searched for a clock with his eyes, apparently finding one somewhere behind me. "Four?"  
"Fuck", I groaned. "So Petra's here probably any second."  
"Mm'm, she might be", Marco agreed. "Try sleeping till then? You will be fine when you wake up."  
"Have you seen me in the morning? I am never fine after waking up", I groaned and buried my face in the pillow.  
"I have, and I know. Get a coffee machine with a timer or something if that would help. Or sleep more", Marco chuckled.  
"Fuck you."  
"You wish", he laughed. As he saw my pouty face it turned into a rumbling fit of wheezes.  
"I am not that fun."  
"But oh, yes you are", he giggled  and smiled, sitting up and climbing over the edge. "Sleep well."  
"Yeah, bye", I muttered with a sigh and adjusted myself better against the pillows behind my back. I felt drowsy. Really, really drowsy.  
  
I felt someone kissing my cheek. My eyes flew open and I saw Marco, his eyes closed  and his long, curled lashes resting against his cheeks. His lips were soft and surprisingly warm against my skin, and they left it tingling as they separated from it mere beats of colibri's heart later.  
"Thank you, Jean. For everything", he whispered, and his breath tickled my lips as he drew away. "You are a great friend."  
He left the room without another word.  
I laid awake, unable to fall asleep with the feeling of his lips on my cheek and the sound of my name when he said it in my ears.

No matter how much I would have liked to deny it, I couldn't.  
I kept on wishing he had kissed my lips instead.  
I had wanted a vampire to kiss me.  
No, not just a vampire.  
I had wanted Marco Bott to kiss me.


	18. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was that one day when I lost hope.  
> I can remember it crystal clear.

I used to be happy, I think. When I was small and innocent.  
But then, somehow, I wasn't anymore.  
I was thirteen and happy for a while. Then I wasn't.  
Suddenly I was fourteen and lost of hope.  
Then I was fifteen and I thought that I'd die before I was twenty.  
After a while, I was seventeen and I realised that I'd kill myself if no one else would do it before me.  
When I was nineteen, I think I lost the last shreds of hope that I had but stayed alive for my dog.  
When I was twenty two, my dog died and I had no reason to stay alive.  
So I killed myself.  
Except, I was stopped.  
But I would have.  
Now I can't.  
Furthermore... maybe a little part of me wants to live again.  
It's been a long ride.  
Too long.  
But here I am.  
I'm a little proud.

***

My 13 th summer.  
The best age of my life.  
Dad goes insane.  
  
It was just one night, one night that was supposed to be normal. I came home from playing out with friends and only he was home. My sister was at summer camp, mother somewhere. Buying food? Could be. I don't know. I can't remember. Maybe it's good.  
  
When I came home, dad was really angry. I found out later on that he lost his job that day, but I didn't know it then.  
So I didn't understand why he hit me when I asked him what was wrong.  
  
It wasn't the first time I was hit at home. Parents were old fashioned and believed in raising us up with bodily punishments for what we did wrong. But this time, I didn't know what I had done. I was home in time. I had cleaned my room. I had done everything that I should have done and yet he hit me. More than once. Harder than he usually would, and with his fist closed compared to the slaps we usually received when we did something wrong.  
  
He never apologised. Mother didn't know. I didn't tell her. I thought that I must have done something really wrong. I was ashamed.  
  
Dad stayed home. The end of summer went easily, with me and sister there.  
Then, school started.  
I became scared of going home.  
Because I was alone with him.  
  
He started beating me up for reasons I couldn't understand.  
I was powerless against him and even if I wasn't, how could I have risen my hand against my family? How could I have done that?  
How could I?  
  
So I endured it, thinking that it'd get better.  
Of course I was wrong.

***

My 14 th August.  
The worst age of my life.  
I lose hope.  
  
It was that one day when I lost hope.  
I can remember it crystal clear.  
I was pushed against the floor, and it was cold and hard against my back. My spine hurt. My nose hurt. My body ached, but it didn't matter.  
All that mattered was the knife in his hands and how he told me he'd kill me.  
It was cold, cold cold against my skin and my beating pulse. So cold cold cold.  
I cried.  
I know that I cried.  
I cried and begged for my life.  
  
I thought that it lasted for an eternity. The way he'd press the knife to my throat and whisper that this is it, you are done now. I can end you right now. You are a worthless son and no one would miss you. I still believed that someone would, back then. That someone would miss me if I was gone.  
  
I screamed.  
  
The door opened. My mother and sister were home.  
They stared at us, and my mother laughed. A cruel, wordless laughter that bounced off the walls.  
My sister didn't laugh. She just stood there, silent, staring at us and her hand fled to her neck.  
  
I realised that sometimes, when I came home later than she did, she'd be crying in her room.  
That she used long sleeved shirts.  
That maybe she had been there, too.  
She walked off the scene, to her room.  
  
Dad let me go, laughing with mum.  
  
I ran. I ran away.  
Climbed up one of those trees and I cried.  
  
I knew that that was it.  
No one would help me.  
My mother didn't care.  
My sister was a victim.  
Dad wanted me gone.  
  
No one would believe me, because we were such a perfect family.  
No one would believe that something was wrong.

***

December, I'm 15.  
It's Christmas.  
Somehow, I was still alive.  
  
I had tried telling someone about what happened, but they didn't believe me and told my mum. My mum resented me for trying to 'ruin our image out of spitefulness' and turned her back on me.  
  
I was suddenly openly hated by both of my parents.  
  
My sister sat quietly at the Christmas table and only kept up with the minimal discussion she was forced to. She never talked to me when we were alone and never helped me with dad. I didn't blame her. I knew she had to have it worse because she was even weaker than I was.  
Still, it hurt. It hurt as I trained my bruised body to be able to take care of her. To save her.  
But more than the bruises hurt the way she ignored me, because whilst I would have jumped the gun for her, she would never do it for me.  
Yet... I'd rather be the one beaten than let her be beaten.  
  
So when mother dropped the spinach jar and I saw the twitch in dad's eyebrows, I made sure that it was me who was left alone with him that night.

***

My 16 th birthday.  
I asked for a dog,  
but inside I wanted to die.  
  
I got the dog, unbelievable but true. She was named Korppi, after the raven birds. Her fur was black and shiny as the night and she became the first thing to love me in years and years.  
  
For a while, I was happy, when I came back to my room bruised and she was waiting for me at the bed, whisking her tail and licking my hand, worry constant in her eyes.  
I was happy. Just a little. For a while.  
For I was loved, and someone needed me.

***

April, I'm 17.  
I lost my future.  
At least the hope of it.  
  
One day, I stopped talking to my sister. To be clearer, she stopped talking to me.  
  
It was the 2 nd of April when something ticked her off and she hit me.  
We just stood there, open mouthed and stared at each other.  
She started shaking, staring at her own hand as if she had never seen it before.  
"I'm like him, oh god I am just like him", she muttered and started crying, turning her back to me.  
  
She never talked to me after that. She never apologized. She didn't even look at me.  
  
On the last day of April she graduated from school and ran away, leaving behind a "goodbye and fuck you" letter.  
  
I felt that letter on my skin and bones for weeks.

***

I don't know when exactly,  
but I was 19.  
Dad stopped.  
  
Out of nowhere, he just stopped.  
He didn't hit me anymore.  He didn't get up from the bed. Mum got worried and got help for him.  
Diagnosed to be 'too depressed to work', he was hospitalized. Naturally, mum took it out on me. I took care of everything at home. Worked my back off at school, did all the housework and took a part time job to feed myself. Mum was too busy visiting dad and having her flings to care about my health.  
  
I came to understand that she never had really cared at all.  
I didn't have any friends anymore.  
I smiled and talked at school, but I never let anyone get close.  
Never met anyone anywhere.  
  
I was tired. I was dull. I didn't get salvation for not being beaten anymore.  
  
I felt at blame for what happened to my dad.  
Maybe I caused it all?  
Maybe I really, really was worthless. Maybe I really didn't matter.  
But you see,  no one was there to punish me anymore.  
  
So I took up the knife and learned to punish myself with the red tally marks of regret drawn across my skin.  
  
I wanted to die. I really did. But then, I had a dog so I couldn't. So I stayed alive for Korppi.  
  
I started to walk new routes with her, just to get out of it all, just so I wouldn't have to see the same old streets and same old signs over and over again. One day, on those little travels I took walking with Korppi, ignoring my aching body,  I walked past a small, red house, in the end skirts of the town. It looked cozy to me, with its light up windows, its black roof and its smoking chimney.  
There was a boy younger than me, his back to the window, the top of his dual coloured hair long enough to be twisted into a lazy bun at the back of his head. There was a man with short hair and pierced ears next to him, keeping his hand on the boy's shoulder. They were looking at a painting - a great one, I thought.  The man looked proud, smiling down at the boy who I guessed was his son. But then he lifted his eyes past his son and met with mine, and I ran away, embarrassed of getting caught.  
  
But I started walking past the house, looking at the dual haired artist growing sadder and sadder each time I passed by.  
I didn't understand why, but his face calmed me.  
But I was also sad because he had to be sad.

***

I was 22 when Korppi died.  
  
It was out of nowhere. She was only 5, yet to turn 6.  
It happened by surprise, when we were playing outside in the spring snow.  
She just fell down, juddered and died in my arms way before I could get help for her.  
They sent her body to be opened up, to find out if she was poisoned.  
She wasn't.  
They just said that her heart was faulty and that it was a miracle she lived to be 5.  
I didn't even cry.  
I couldn't.  
  
Days later, when I finally forced myself out of the house and back to school, I walked past the house with the artist on my way back home, but he wasn't there anymore. It was just an empty house with no lights on, standing silently on its own with a sad, abandoned look and contact number for interested buyers hung by the door. I wondered what had happened, as the tears finally fell down my cheeks.  
  
At home, I was faced with empty bowls and toys that no one would play with anymore.  
Faced with parents who offered their half hearted sympathy with no emotions sewed into the seams.  
I kept on going. For a day, for another.  
  
Two months afterwards, when I still threw pieces of sausage over my shoulder for her to catch before I realised that there was no 'her' anymore, I gave up.  
I went to school. Walked around. Climbed up the bridge, knowing that it was there. Nothing left to feel.  
I could never be happy again.  
There was nothing left to see.  
Nothing.  
  
But everything changed.  
  
I became a vampire.

***

"Worst are the people who mask their intolerance with the lace of faked love."  
That's what he told me when he learned my story, leaning to ruffle my hair.  
"Listen, Marco. Those people don't matter anymore. They are fucktards. They don't deserve you."  
"No one deserves a burden like me."  
"You are not a burden."  
"What am I then?"  
"Why do you think that I stopped you?"  
"I don't know. Maybe you are a bit fucked up."  
"Maybe I am, but I don't want you to give up. I have lived seven hundred years, Marco, and I have yet to meet someone as kind as you."  
"You are lying."  
"If I was, why would I try this hard?"  
"Because you are a bit fucked up?"  
"Because I want you to live."  
"Why?"  
"Because you deserve to live. Now, stand up. Lets clean up this blood before it ruins my floor."  
"Is that your real point? To save your floor?"  
"No, but have you ever had to change a whole flooring? That shit's expensive."  
"So -"  
"Shut up, and clean with me. And let this be the last time you bleed on my floor. Are we clear on that?"  
"...yes."  
"Good."

***

Somehow I felt a bit better when I got to know Annie.  
She took a one look at me, scoffed and said: "Should we form 'we got beaten up at home and the gays took us in club', freckles?"  
  
I think it was the first time I laughed from the bottom of my heart in years.

***

I realised that my family wasn't okay ages ago. I never told it to others after that one try. If asked, I'd tell anyone that "I love my family a lot", delivered with a smile that I had learned to plaster onto my face whenever I was outside. So that no one would find out.  
  
Now that I think about it later on I know that it was self destructive. But back then... I don't even know. Was it that I didn't realise? No... no it wasn't. I knew. I just pretended not to. Because I thought that I deserved it. But I couldn't say that aloud, either. Even I realised how wrong it sounded - I knew there was nothing healthy in how I handled myself. I would never have let my friends do the same to themselves, never... but yet, somehow, in my head I was always the one exception.  
  
Does anyone deserve to get abused? No. But I did.  
Is it okay to self harm? No, it's a clear sign of a problem. But not with me. I need punishment.  
Do people deserve help? Definitely. Everyone should get help for their problems, except me, I don't deserve help.  
It sounds idiotic, doesn't it?  
Yet, when you are battling with your mind it all makes sense.  
I deserve it. I was only worth it. I deserved each and every beating.  
I didn't deserve to be happy.  
  
So I thought.  
Yet I knew it was wrong. I think.  
  
Now I know, if nothing else.  
  
I know I didn't deserve it. I deserved a normal childhood, I deserved to be happy. I wasn't magically meant to grow up under the feeling of drowning, or holding my breath waiting for the next beating. It wasn't fair how I had to count my every move, my every step, my every breath, hoping that I wouldn't piss him off. I know that I deserved to believe that I could survive alive. I didn't deserve the fear of dying each and every day.  
I wish I could go back in time and tell myself that.  
But I can't.  
But I can learn to live instead.  
  
So when I saw that artist boy whose hair I always liked, even though it was shorter now, on that small street and I saw them beating him, I decided to be strong. I didn't want to see him being beaten like I was. With the martial arts Annie and Bertolt had drilled into me for two years and the fighting experience I had gained back at home, I threw myself into the mission of saving him.  
Furthermore, what were a few assholes to me now that I was a vampire?  
It was an easy win. It felt great to be able to protect someone.  
  
When I left him at the arms of his kind of scary mum, I saw her love for him and smiled, glad that he had someone to protect him and treat his wounds. That was supposed to be it. Never meeting again, leaving him to live his new life with his mother. I wondered where that guy whom I had assumed to be his dad was. Maybe they had divorced, I thought, before telling myself to stop and move onwards. It didn't belong to me. So I let it be and I left it alone.  
  
The thing is, he didn't leave me alone.  
  
At first, I was distressed by Jean following me. I needed him gone before he could find out anything about me. I played it through the best that I could but it didn't work out. No matter what I tried, he kept pushing me. He seemed so sure that I was a vampire, even though he clearly wasn't one himself. I didn't understand why he was so sure when he wasn't even one of our helpers.  Of course, as we all know, he ended up finding out. I was even more distressed - what the hell would I do with a human knowing about me?  
  
Funnily enough, here I was now. Cuddled up against him, telling him stories of my life. Listening to his heartbeat, worrying.  
  
When he fell, his face twisted in pain, I thought he'd die.  
Just seconds before, with the way he had touched me, I had thought that he'd kiss me.  
But no, he fell down.  
I thought he was going to die, like Korppi on the spring snow.  
I couldn't stand it.  
  
I screamed for help, and his mother called the ambulance and there was nothing I could do.  
I blanked on everything I had learned, shaking from head to toe when the ambulance arrived.  
  
Please survive  
_Please survive._  
Please, just survive.  
  
It was all I could think of.  
  
Here I was, listening to his heartbeat, telling him about how I wanted to die. How it lead to me becoming a vampire. I thought that maybe, just maybe he'd push me away when he learned about it.  
"You... don't have to pretend to be happy like nothing ever hurt you. I like the real you, with issues and everything. There's more depth to you like this."    
Such simple, awkward words. Still, they carried more on them that he could ever understand. I wished I could somehow show him that.  
But no matter what I said, I really couldn't kiss him there and then. Nothing prevented me from kissing his cheek for a goodbye, tho.  
  
Kissing him goodbye. What a laughable idea that would have been a few months ago.  
  
"Why are you laughing, Marco?"  
Annie was staring at me from the driver's seat, her brow arched high. I just laughed more.  
"Marco?"  
"I'm okay, I'm okay."  
"Why are you laughing?" Oh Annie, if I could just explain.  
I shook my head instead, wiping away the tears from the corners of my eyes, just laughing harder.  
"You are starting to worry me a little."  
"I'm okay, I really am", I wheezed. "I just... don't know h-how to e--e-xplain."  
"Try me."  
  
I shook my head more, leaning forward to set my hands on the dashboard of her car, and my head atop them, finally calming down my laughter. I could feel Annie's eyes on me.  
"Marco?"  
"I'm happy."  
"What?"  
"I'm happy."  
"... yes, I can see that?"  
"I told you you wouldn't understand."  
"I most definitely don't."  
  
I turned my head to look at her, meeting with her traditional, emotionless expression.  
"Aren't you even a little happy for me?" I questioned. Annie sneered.  
"I will be happy when you stop mopping the dust with your hair, weirdo."  
"Thanks, and love you too."  
"Shut up", she smiled and reached over to flick my forehead. "Of course I'm happy for you."  
"Mmm, thank you."  
  
Annie smiled at me, that small, rare smile she sometimes showed before turning her attention to the car and starting the engine.  
  
I was thankful.  
  
For once, I was stronger than my memories.  
Maybe, one day, I'd really get better.  
  
That was a nice thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talking of abuse.  
> Abuse, mental, physical, sexual... if you are facing any of these, know that you are worth help and do deserve help. Get help. Don't be me. Get help now, not five years from now. It's not likely to get easier with time - it's scary, but you have to seek out help, okay? No matter if the abuser is your parent, your sibling, your uncle, someone completely unrelated, no matter if someone threatens to hurt your family if you tell. Go and get help. They will help you. There are country specific abuse hotlines (just google it, I am sure you will find one) and next to that, you can rely on a chat like support lines.  
> [Here's a list of websites you can start with.](http://positivedoodles.tumblr.com/post/104700370638/abuse-is-a-very-serious-issue-if-you-are-or-have)  
> Stay strong, friends. You can get through whatever is darkening your life right now. I used to believe that I would never live to be 16, and yet here I am, writing this for you and turning 20 in a few months. I don't even want to count how many times I wanted to give up, but look, here I am. Kicking on and all. Unlearning shitty behaviour and trying to be just a little bit nicer to myself.
> 
> If I can do it, then for sure you can do it, too.
> 
> xx
> 
> [Update: I turn 21 in a few weeks. It's a struggle, but I am getting better. Go get that help, it's worth it.]


	19. Bite me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I'm back!" I called out, as I stepped inside, closing the door and hanging my keys to their place on the handle. I could hear a faint "welcome back" from the bathroom. Oh yeah, I have a naked Jean in the bathroom. Wait. Don't go there mind.

Five years earlier,  
4 th of July,  
Western Trost; home  
  
One would think that you'd get used to surprises when you have been saved from what you thought to be your doom by being turned into a vampire, but the lanky boy who should have been hospitalized on my doorstep that Friday night still surprised me. Greatly. Especially because I wasn't the one to open the front door and only knew that it was him once he knocked on my own door.  
  
After I had blankly stared at him for several seconds he asked: "I know it's crazy, but can you let me in, maybe?"  
I hurriedly made way to him and let him inside, watching him closely as he stepped past me and walked all the way to the higher end of the room and sat down on one of the pillows, looking back at me.  
"Sorry I didn't call you beforehand", he muttered, trying to pat down the quite disastrous state of his hair. "I kind of forgot."  
"Never mind that, shouldn't you be at the hospital or resting at home?" I asked, finally closing the door after him. "I mean, wasn't your discharge supposed to be tomorrow?"  
"I got off early because everything was so well", Jean shrugged. "I mean, I was devastated after I heard that the three days Petra talked of only meant getting changed to the local hospital and not home and I had to be there for this long but... yeah."  
"You were still there an awfully sort time for someone who got a heart attack, Jean", I replied, running my hand through my hair. "What was it, pretty much exactly two weeks?"  
"I dunno, felt like eternity for me."  
"Jean, you almost died."  
"Yeah, but I didn't", he scoffed. It was my clue to stare at him pointedly.  
"What about the rest? You are sweating buckets."  
"You'd be sweating too if you walked through Trost in this weather."  
I let out a shaky breath.  
"Let me make sure I heard correctly - you got discharged today, with a strict ban on exercise and you go and walk through the goddam city when it's, what, plus 30 degrees out there?"  
"Bullseye."  
"Jean Kirstein, you are the most moronic person I have had the displeasure to meet."  
If there had been comical fume coming out of my ears at that point, I wouldn't have been too surprised to be honest.  
  
Jean played with a string hanging from his shirt, biting into his lower lip and keeping his eyes from mine.  
"I, uh, had to leave", he huffed out, his bare toes tapping onto the wooden floor. "Sorry."  
"What do you mean 'had to leave'?" I questioned, reluctant on letting him off the hook too easily.  
"I had a fight with mum", Jean confessed, turning his gaze to somewhere around my knees. "I kinda... got really pissed off and told her I wouldn't come back before she is ready to talk about it with me."  
"Is this about the same thing that you fought about in the hospital?" I asked, walking across the room to sit next to him. Jean eyed me carefully from the corner of his eye as if I could explode any second now.  
"Yeah", he replied. "The same thing."  
"I'm sorry to hear about it", I offered. Jean shrugged, a sad look in his eyes.  
"As I said back then, she needs to face it. I don't like fighting with her but I can't stand pretending anymore. It's driving me nuts."  
"Oh, I see."  It was my turn to be silent for a while before it hit me. "Wait, you said that you won't go back?"  
"Uh, yeah, that's a thing", Jean nervously laughed and rubbed the back of his head. It made his top glide downwards, revealing the top of the white scar vertically dividing his chest. I averted my eyes from it as he continued. "So I was wondering if I could crash here for a night or so? I'd go to Sasha and Connie's but she's sure to go look for me there."  
"It's not that I'm saying no", I started and Jean visibly twitched at my words. "But you are realising that you are asking to lodge under a vampire's roof?"  
"Well you have slept over more than once you know?" Jean noted. "So I don't see the problem, it's not like you'd... do something to me while I sleep."  
"That sounded like I'd try to take advantage of you."  
"Well, you told me not to joke about the killing thing." Oh. He remembered. That's... that's nice. I cleared my throat.  
"Okay, fair point. But you understand that I literally have blood in my fridge?"  
"So? So does mum and the only difference here is the animal that the blood is from", Jean shrugged. "I mean, in both cases the blood is used for food and the similar. I don't know why I should be bothered by one and not the other."  
"You are a little weird." More than a little, to be honest.  
"Says the caffeine allergic vampire who gives out coffee to the homeless."  
"Okay, another fair point. Almost as weird as you, then."  
"Hey now", he laughed and nudged my arm. I smiled back at him.  
  
We settled into a silence for a while, listening to the raindrops that slowly started hitting the roof above us.  
"So... can I stay?"  
"Yeah, you can stay", I nodded. "It's just, I need to go get blood tomorrow."  
"Get blood?" Jean asked, cocking his head to the side.  
"Well, I need to drink something," I replied, similarly cocking my head and with a small smirk. "Or do you want me to starve?"  
"No", Jean shook his head. "But why do you need to go?"  
"I'm not following you", I said, shaking my head. "I just literally explained it - I need food."  
"You clearly aren't. I asked you why do you need to go because, if you haven't noticed, I am right here." Well that one was easy to follow. I squinted my eyes at his innocent expression.  
"Jean, I'm not drinking your blood again", I refused and shook my head, making him rise his eyebrows up high. It shouldn't really be that surprising, Jean.  
"Why not?" Because it's the best way to treat you, not biting you that's it.  
"Well, to start with, you are probably still full of meds-" I managed before Jean cut me off.  
"I haven't been given any meds because there's nothing they could give meds for."  
"Well, even so", I tried. "I still shouldn't."  
"What then, does my blood taste bad or something?"  
  
Is that... hurt on his face? Are you hurt by the idea that your blood wouldn't taste good? What the hell are you, Jean?  
"No, your blood is rather tasty", I admitted with a shrug. Jean sighed.  
"What's the issue, then? Just bite me." That word combination is not supposed to be used this way, Jean. It's supposed to be sarcastic, not a serious remark.  
"You are unbelievably eager to get yourself pierced for someone who just got out of the hospital. I'd think you got enough of that done there", I remarked, shaking my head. Jean's stare was all but pleased.  
"Jeez sure, I just fucking love to get prickled by needles, you got me, I'm addicted", he sneered. "Nothing to do with me trying to be nice and all, not at all."  
"Well, there's no need to try to be nice. It can't be too healthy for you if I drink your blood often."  
  
Jean's fingers suddenly grabbing my arm scared the shit out of me.  
"Marco, are you blaming yourself?"  
"W-what do you mean-"  
"Are you blaming yourself for my heart attack?"  
  
Well.  
"Maybe a little."  
  
Jean sighed and shook his head. He's doing that a lot these days, sighing.  
"Listen Marco, that wasn't my first heart attack."  
Wait, what.  
"Actually, it was my fourth. Furthermore, it was ages after you biting me you dumbass." You actually kind of have a point there.  
"I felt rather great after your bite." Ah man, don't make me hopeful here.  
"Really? You felt great?" I asked carefully, not ready to believe my own ears.  
"Honestly", Jean smiled and nodded. "I felt great and I am glad I forced you to do it."  
"Well at least you realise that you forced me", I chuckled as Jean's smile grew wider.  
"You will bite me, then?"  
"Maybe later", I said and reached to mess his hair. "I gotta ask you first - do you have any clothes, money or anything with you."  
"Uuh yes and no", he muttered. "I have my wallet and phone and stuff but that's all. I could buy a few shirts or something."  
"Or just borrow mine", I offered and stood up. "I should have something in a smaller size, maybe."  
"Gotta love that maybe there", he mocked and stood up, too. "I'm not that small, either."  
  
I stared rather rudely at his naked arms, sticking out collarbones and generally sharp and boney features and rose my eyebrows at him. He looked rather disgruntled at my reaction. "God honest Marco, you surely know how to annoy a guy."  
"It's my specialty", I snickered and opened the wardrobe door. "I sadly can't offer you a sassy shirt as you did for me."  
"What, you don't have one calling you a colossal bitch? Unbelievable, Marco, just unbelievable."  
"Well, I have a 'I'm gay' shirt, that's close enough", I mused and dug into my clothes. "But that's probably not too fitting for you."  
"I don't know", Jean admitted. "I thought that I was straight, kind of thought that I liked this girl but in the end I think I was just impressed by how strong she was. Not that she wouldn't be pretty on the eyes, but... I never liked her in the 'date me' way, more like in the 'are you a goddess of power' way."  
"Okay", I replied. "Sounds interesting. You want to date guys, then?"  
"Yeah, I guess so", Jean mused and from the corner of my eye I could see that he was biting his lip. "And it's not that I have anything against girls but I just haven't met one that I'd like to. I mean, they are pretty but... I don't know. I don't think it'd be impossible for me to fall for one in the hey let's build a family way but I just don't deem it likely."  
"Sexuality is confusing and fluid and there's no need to locker yourself too clearly anyways", I smiled and thrust a yellow shirt to his hands. "That's a shirt number one. Go take a bath and I will go buy you a toothbrush and stuff."  
"I can do that my-"  
"No. Definitely not. You are not leaving this house tonight", I ordered and gave him a sharp look, ignoring his puppy dog eyes. "You already walked way too much."  
"If I j-"  
"No."  
Jean sighed in defeat.  
  
"What's your boxer size? Small?" I asked, clicking my phone screen open. Jean made a noise that sounded like he almost choked on his own spit and I gave him a quizzical look over my phone.  
"You okay?"  
"Why are you buying me boxers", he choked out, cheeks dusting pink, that cutie. I shrugged.  
"You know, I thought you might not want to hang in the same boxers for your whole visit and probably don't want to borrow mine, either, so buying a pack sounded like the best idea."  
"I... see", he muttered. "Small is good."  
"This clear. Do you prefer your toothbrushes hard or soft?"  
"Soft", Jean answered, rather unfazed this time. "If you find an extra soft, get me that."  
"That clear", I noted and wrote it down on the memo on my phone. "I guess you are heavy with your hand, then."  
"Yeah", he muttered and shrugged. "Can I borrow your shower gel or something for the bath?"  
"Sure, go on, there are bath bombs too."  
"There are what?"  
"Bath bombs", I repeated. "A ball that you drop into the bathtub, usually scented, dyes the water in different colour. Pretty damn relaxing, I recommend trying out one. Take the purple, it smells like blueberries."  
"Right", Jean muttered and stared at the floor with what seemed to be a face torn between disbelief and a smile.  
"You okay borrowing my deodorant or should I get you a new one?"  
"I can borrow yours", Jean smiled sheepishly. "Don't go overboard, okay?"  
"Alright, what do you want to eat?"  
"Oh yeah, it'd be rude to eat your flatmates' foods."  
"Yeah, a little." Not to mention only one of them is human. Jean didn't need to know that now, though.  
"I'm okay with whatever. Seriously. We could just go out for a walk and I could grab something from there."  
"Noup. You are staying inside. Any special diets from the doctor?"  
"None."  
"Okay, I will come up with something", I nodded and saved the memo. "I will be going now, so please take the bath, keep your phone close by and don't hesitate to call if you need something or feel the slightest bit of pain or discomfort-"  
"Relax Marco, I can take care of myself."  
"Oh really, you can?" I sneered and ruffled his strawy hair. "No heart attacks this time, okay?"  
"Zero, I promise."  
"Good. See ya in half an hour or so", I smiled and pulled my hand away to a small salute. "Stay safe."  
"God, just go already", Jean snorted and waved me off. I walked off, grabbing the bag I knew to have my wallet in it and snatched my keys from the door handle, making my way downstairs as I heard Jean walking into the bathroom. I double checked that I had my phone in its place in my pocket before bidding goodbyes to my flatmates, telling them not to bother him. Surprisingly, they didn't ask questions this time. I guess part of the reason was probably the fact that I discontinued a clearly steamy make out session between Reiner and Bertolt. Annie just didn't bug me with questions when she was alone, which was a blessing on its own.  
  
I exited the apartment onto the street that was, not too surprisingly, empty. I was thankful for the rain for it allowed me to be out carelessly. It seemed like the drizzle wouldn't be ending anytime soon, but I still made a point of fastening my pace and hurrying towards the shop a few blocks away. It was a small, but not too small, shop that was pretty useful, actually. Not that I would have visited normal food shops too often anymore, but sometimes I did the shopping for Annie. Especially when she was on her period and, according to her own words, 'too cranky to handle any avoidable socializing with strangers'.  
  
The shop was blissfully almost empty as I walked in, even remembering to take a basket from the pile (don't even ask me how many times I have forgotten and have had to go back to get one because it's one of my biggest shames). Okay, so what do people eat - oranges? I dropped a small bag of edible looking and not-too-soft oranges to my bag and shuffled forwards. Muesli? Shall do, Kirstein family's food cabinets had seemed to be on the healthier side of the range so I hoped he preferred muesli over cereals. A bag of rye bread joined the basket, with my distant memory of Jean eating rye things (I should have paid more attention to what he always ate). I walked past the cold shelves, picking a carton of skimmed milk and a small packet of cheese slices when I suddenly remembered his apparent coffee addiction so I skimmed through the instant coffee shelve - he'd better make do with instant one since we didn't have a coffee machine in the house. I picked up a few random ones, hoping that they'd make do. Deciding that he should live that for the starters I walked towards the freezers but decided to go to grab the non-frozen things first. I used a bit too long moment to mull over which colour of toothbrush he'd prefer (I opted for the safe mint green in the end) before walking over to where the small underwear and the similar section was placed.  
  
Oh, right.  
What colour of boxers?  
  
I stared at the not so wide range of colour options - as in the completely lack of it, since the only options seemed to be white, grey and black. I hummed silently, trying to decide what he'd want. Grey was boring, black was so so, white was cool but was it too suggesting -  
  
The image of white boxers wetted with my saliva as I mouthed at the cock under them flashed into my mind in fucking HD 1080 pixel 3D show with excellent voice quality ringing those moans back to my ears and I dropped the packet of boxers I was holding like it was on fire.  
  
Right.  
  
Definitely not white boxers, then.  
  
I grabbed two packs of the black ones in the size small and dropped them to my basket before fleeing the scene to the freezer. My heart was beating too loud and I knew that my cheeks had to be red as sirens. Why did I have to think of it there and there? Was this my penalty for some sin I had committed since I was still alive? Or because of that mirror I broke last week? Please, no, don't be the mirror, I don't want seven years of this. No one deserves a punishment that bad. Absolutely no one.  
  
I kept muttering something unintelligible that was probably supposed to be no in all its forms under my breath as I walked forwards, gathering a few looks by other customers. I picked up a pizza, chips and fish fingers from the freezer before slamming the lid closed a bit too forcefully and making my way towards the checkout. I threw in a bag of candies while waiting in the line and offered the cashier - bored looking blond guy with huge eye bags and even huger sideburns - the best smile I could muster but it must have looked terribly forced based on pity that glinted over his features as he met with my eyes. Thanks buddy. That helped greatly. At least my card didn't have any problems, because that would already have been laughable, so I managed to pack my haul without any other incidents than breaking the first shopping bag with the corner of the pizza box. The tired looking cashier, apparently called Thomas based on his nametag, was kind enough (or felt enough pity towards me, who knows) to give me another bag without charge and I thanked him for it from the bottom of my heart for that and left the shop with a small smile.  
  
The water was still lazily dripping down from the sky, running between the cobblestones with ease towards the lower parts of Trost. I was mindful of the frozen foods I got for Jean and hurried my steps once more - there was no point getting my guest sick for offering him food that had gone bad. It didn't take me more than a few minutes to make my way back to the apartment door and let myself into the small hallway and make my way up to the stairway. I left my shoes in their place on the second floor, greeted Annie in the kitchen and was met with raised brow and questioning stare towards my shopping bags. I shrugged with a smile, trying to give out my best 'what can you do' expression before taking the other fleet of stairs up into my room.  
  
"I'm back!" I called out, as I stepped inside, closing the door and hanging my keys to their place on the handle. I could hear a faint "welcome back" from the bathroom. Oh yeah, I have a naked Jean in the bathroom. Wait. Don't go there mind. Stop. Not a good area.  
"I got you everything that you need, hopefully", I informed and walked towards the door to the smaller room, close by the bathroom door. Which, just by the way, didn't have a lock on it. Actually, don't think about that either.  
"Great. Hey Marco, I'm an idiot." Errr alright then, what now?  
"What do you mean?" I asked, slipping into the smaller room. "Sorry I need to put food to my fridge but I should hear you fine here, too."  
"I don't have a towel with me."  
  
Great.  
You had to say that just when I was by the poorly frosted window that I could see into the bathroom to. Who the fuck even has windows that just lead to another room in the house? Our house, that's it. Only in that one bathroom. Oh man, this is torture.  
"I will get you one once I get the food to the fridge, okay?" I hissed out, keeping my eyes straight forward as I walked past the window to the fridge... almost right by it.  
"Are you okay? You sound kind of choked?" No I'm not okay, thanks to you and stupid dreams of white boxers and your cock in my mouth.  
"I'm alright, the wall must just be muffling my voice", I croaked out as I slammed the frozen foods to the freezer before putting the milk and cheese in the fridge. I left the bread, apples, coffee and muesli on the table by it and wished that I could groan out loud but I knew I couldn't. That'd just lead to more questions.  
  
I dropped my back to the floor and walked to the other end of the room to get to the small cupboard where I kept towels and bedclothes in, pulling out the first one that I could find. Pink Hello Kitty one that Reiner got me from his and Bertl's trip to Greece? Oh well, it could be worse.  
"I have a towel for you", I informed after taking a few deep breaths to calm myself (and hopefully straightening my face) and I walked back towards the other rooms.  
"Great! Could you throw it in from the door or something?"  
"Sure, just a minute." You are not making this easy, Jean Kirstein. Not at all.  
  
Okay Marco. It's just Jean. Just Jean. Open the door.  
  
I knocked on the door before, before stepping in, keeping my head to the side. "Where do you want me to put this?"  
"Could you leave it at that table?" Jean requested. I nodded, my eyes still at everywhere but the bathtub as I turned to place the towel on the table. Of course it was only then that I remembered the mirror.  
"I see that you used one of the bath bombs."  
"Well, you recommended it." Good Jean, keep those knees up and your chin on them. Excellent. No don't lean backwards. "Hey Marco?" Well fuck me.  
I hesitantly turned to face him. I mean, the water was still kinda bubbly and dark so that wasn't creepy. Right? "Y-eah." Wow, natural. Good job.  
"Sorry, where do you keep your shampoo and shit?"  
"On the shower", I creaked, pointing at the separate shower on the other corner of the room. Jean followed my finger with his eyes, and god that scar was bigger than I originally thought-  
"Okay, thanks. That's all I needed to know."  
"Good. Yeah. I will leave then."  
"Alright." Oh god I sounded weird. I must have sounded so weird, based on the questioning look on his face. I turned around and exited the room in a pace that was hopefully not too fast but not too slow either. It's hard to tell when your mind isn't working correctly.  
  
The sound of the bathroom door closing behind me could have as well been my own wedding bells based on the amount of relief it brought me.  
The sound of turning on the shower wasn't as relaxing, because it reminded me how I could perfectly see to it from that little badly frosted window-  
No Marco. No voyeurism. You need Jesus. Like three of them. Three Jesuses to give you bad stares. What a good idea.  
  
I sat down on my bed, taking up the book that I had been reading last night - The Many Lives of Christopher Chant, from Chrestomanci series by Diana Wynne Jones. One of those things that I always ended up re-reading and could probably soon site off the top of my head backwards. However, the page that I was staring at didn't make any sense to me. Five pages later it was clear that I could have as well have been reading Japanese - I had no idea what was happening. All that the letters seemed to form were meaningless queues of forms of varying lengths. Nothing made sense.  
  
"Hey Marco, did you buy me those boxers?"  
Well. Fuck you, too, Jean Kirstein.  
"Yeah. Should I throw in a pair?"  
"If you don't mind? Sorry for this." Yes, I mind and a lot. My mind is too close to AO3's E rating now for it to be healthy.  
"It's okay, it was me who told you to take a bath in the end."  And fuck my mouth, too. Wait. No. Marco. Not that way.  
  
I give up on life. It must have been that fucking mirror.  
  
Oh. Of course I left the boxers in the other room. In that bag. By that fucking useless inside window.  
  
Congratulations on making your life harder, Marco Bott. Congratulations.  
  
"Marco?"  
"Sorry, sorry, coming."  Not coming. MARCO. Control yourself, young man. Vampire. Young vampire. See. Vampire. Not a human boy. Good. Concentrate on that.  
  
I rose up from the bed, cursing my whole existence inside my head. What was I even getting excited for over a friend? It was all that dream's fault, dammit. I never thought I'd miss seeing Jean trying to kill everyone or getting killed by blonde strangers in my dreams, but now I really, really did. Massively. Would pay money to see one.  
  
I covered my eyes with my hand as I stepped into the other room. We can make it through this, Marco. We can make it. Think about old ladies in diapers or old grandpas with wonky dicks with a rash. That's it, you can do it. Just find your way to the bag-  
"What are you doing?"  
Well, why did you open the window, idiot?  
"I-I felt this sharp pain in my head so I just-"  
"Are you getting a migraine?"  
No Jean, now stop leaning out topless and dripping wet. Please. Have some mercy.  
"I think it's okay. Sorry, I will get the boxers, just a second", I muttered and slipped past him to get my bag and pull out one of the packets. "Here."  
"Thanks", Jean said and took the packet from my hands. Don't stare at him, Marco. "Why does your bathroom have a window to your storage room?"  
"I'd answer that if I knew", I sighed and shrugged, trying to look as natural as possible. "Maybe the architect was drunk when designing this."  
"Could be", Jean hummed. "Or maybe really rich people used to live hear and had servants in that room? Had the window so the servants could follow when their master needed help?"  
"I don't know. Did people have things like that?"  
"I don't know either. It was just a silly theory", Jean shrugged and smiled.  
"Well, mister silly theories, get dressed", I sighed and turned to exit the room. "See you on the other side. Please close the window."  
"Sure", Jean laughed as I left the room.  
  
Funnily, the text still made no sense and I laid onto my back on the bed and rose the book to look at it. At least I was quite positive that I was holding it the right way around. God bless page numbers for making figuring that out easier.  
  
Jean emerged out of the bathroom a few minutes later, and before he had a chance to ask anything I informed him that the deodorant was on the right side of the drawer under the mirror. Jean thanked me and made his way back inside for a small moment, walking back to the room soon. I felt the dip on my bed but didn't dare to look past my book.  
"Is that book good?"  
"Yeah, I love it."  
"I see. I should probably try reading more at some point."  
"Well, I definitely recommend this series if nothing else. Actually, want to try it out now?" I asked and slammed the book closed. Jean stared at me pretty bewildered, the towel hanging from his shoulders.  
"S-sure?"  
"Here, then", I said and pushed the book to his hands.  
"Weren't you just reading this?"  
"I have read it numerous times. I will just take another book, it's okay."  
"Oh, okay", Jean smiled, his eyes downcast at the book before he rose them to something behind me.  
"It stopped raining, it seems."  
  
Had it? A turn of my head confirmed Jean's words true.  
"Oh, it really has."  
"You didn't realise?"  
"Too immersed in the book." Too immersed in thinking sinful thoughts about you and trying to stop myself from doing it. You don't need to know that.  
"Huh, it must be good, then."  
"It's amazing."  
"Hey Marco."  
"What?"  
"It's not sunny outside."  
"...yes?" Just spit it out, Jean. Marco, no. Don't even dare to think anything about anything in that direct-  
"You could sit out on the balcony without burning your skin, right?"  
"Errr yes, I'd be fine. Why?"  
"Wanna go sit there and read books?" That was surprising offer. Surprising, but nice.  
"Sure, why not", I agreed and sat up. "Go ahead, I'll just pick up a book."  
  
So. Something easy to read, then. Eion Colfer's 'The Supernaturalist' should be convenient book for this need.  
  
I followed Jean to the small balcony of my room after making a small detour to the fridge to pull out a bottle of lemonade I still had stored there. I gave him the bottle wordlessly, revising a small thanks.  
"You didn't take any for yourself?" he asked, his face falling a few beats after his question into a look that hinted that he had the internal need to face palm himself. Don't worry Jean, I understand.  
"Yeah. Sweet things don't taste that good after the change", I muttered, settling down by the door, leaning my back on the wall whereas Jean's back was against the railing.  
"Ah, that sucks", he muttered and took a sip of his lemonade, looking down to his side. "Are there usually a lot of tourists walking past?" he asked, his eyes drawn to the small group walking under the balcony, talking in language that I didn't recognize with their cameras hanging from their necks. They were excitedly picturing the lazy cat sleeping atop our neighbour's fence, it seemed.  
"Quite a lot during Spring and Summer, yeah. I have been asked directions a few time."  
"While sitting up here?"  
"Yeah, funny isn't it?"  
"Kinda", Jean snorted and turned to look around. "You know, you don't have half of a bad view here."  
"Yeah, I can see three churches without leaving my room. Isn't that convenient?"  
"I guess you are an atheist, then." Good, he knew how to read my sarcasm.  
"Yeah, gave up religion when I was in my teens. How about you?"  
"Atheist, too", Jean nodded. "Never was Christened. Mum didn't want me to be, saying that it's my own place to choose my own belief. Something about how she doesn't have the right to push me into a way of thinking that I don't want to adopt for myself."  
"That's a nice way to raise a child", I smiled, playing with the corners of my book that I hadn't even gotten to opening. "Open minded and fair."  
"Yeah, I'm glad", Jean smiled. "I mean, somehow I feel that if my family had been religious I'd have been more worried about coming out."  
"How about your dad?", I asked. "Was he religious?"  
"Believe it or not, his parents were kind of hardcore Christians", he smirked. "But then dad grew up to be punk and left his family behind for mum. It was, apparently, quite a drama. Him marrying an atheist girl, that is."  
"Are you in touch with his parents?"  
"No. They cut contact when they got married, I have never met them."  
"I'm sorry to hear that."  
"Don't be. I mean, what would I do with grandparents like that? If they were so against atheists I can't believe they would have been very pro gay. I think that's why Mark moved out after Dad, anyways."  
"Mark?"  
"My uncle. He runs a flower shop in the newer district. Mark's flowers, that's the name."  
"What a name full of imagination."  
"I know, really. It's a running family joke."  
  
We settled into silence after that, surrounded by the voices of by passers, sea gulls' screams, the sound of turning pages and the occasional clank when Jean took a sip of his lemonade and settled the bottle back down. It was calm, and after a while I was actually quite content with the reading and didn't have to fight to understand the sentences.  
That was, until Jean started speaking again.  
  
"Hey Marco."  
"You have said that a lot today."  
"Sorry. Mind if I ask something?"  
"Not at all, go on", I replied and settled my bookmark on its place, closing the book to my lap. Jean followed suite and pushed his book further away from the edge.  
"I was wondering, if you don't mind telling me... how old is your sister?"  
"She should be 26 now, I think", I answered, rising my brows. "Why so?"  
"Just wondering", Jean muttered and shrugged. "About how much older she was."  
"Why?" I enquired. "Why do you care about that?"  
"I... uh", he searched for words. "I am kind of pissed at her, I guess."  
"And why's that?"  
"She's older than you but she didn't help you out of your hell... at least that how I understood it."  
"Well, she ran away when she was 19. Can't really blame her."  
"I don't know. Why can you forgive her so easily?"  
"How could I be angry at her?" I asked. "She lived through the same that I did. She probably had it worse because she was too weak to protect herself."  
"But she ran away. Without you."  
"I was an underage kid then. I don't think she wanted charges for kidnapping."  
"It's still not fair."  
"It doesn't matter if it was fair or not. I'm glad that she got away at that point and I hope that she's okay these days."  
  
Jean sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "You are too kind, Marco."  
"Maybe", I shrugged. "I never tried to contact her, thought, so I don't even know if she's okay or not."  
"Do you want to meet her?"  
"Honestly? No", I laughed. "How would that be? Hi Louise, it's been a while! Yeah, I'm your brother Marco. I turned into a vampire a few years back, isn't it pretty cool? Yeah, no".  
"Your sister's name is Louise?"  
"Yeah. She's Louise. Louise Margaret Bott. Or what ever her surname is these days, I don't think she'd keep Bott after running away."  
"Figures", Jean shrugged.  
"May I ask you a personal question, too?"  
"Oh, sure", Jean agreed and signed me to go on. I took a deep breath.  
"Do you miss your dad?"  
"Tons", came the clear reply without missing a beat. "I still carry him around, kind of", he continued, pulling the dog tags he always seemed to wear from under his shirt. "We got these when we learned that he had cancer. Got our own carvings and all. He was buried with his own." He looked sad, his fingers carefully petting the metallic surface.  
"He must have been a great father", I smiled at Jean. He met my eyes and smiled too.  
"Yeah, he was great. The best, really. He always supported me and told me to pursue my dreams, no matter what they were. To make my own happiness a top priority", he laughed. "Might have gotten a bit too good at that."  
"What do you mean?"  
"I know I'm pretty selfish", he grimaced. "Like today? I'm forcing mum into situations that she doesn't want to be in for my own good. I came here without a warning, too, asking for a place to stay, ignoring your needs."  
"That's not selfish at all", I exclaimed. Jean gave me a big ol 'oh really' look. "Okay, you could call it being selfish, but I think that you are just taking care of yourself."  
"As I said, too kind."  
"I really am not", I said, shaking my head. "Sometimes I even kill flies."  
"Oh, and that makes you Satan's little sidekick, yeah?"  
"Probably", I chuckled.  
  
We settled into one of those little silences again, but this time neither of us picked up our books. Instead, we held somewhat steady eye contact, all the way until Jean was the one to break the silence once more.  
"So, the blood thing."  
"Oh, your offer?"  
"Yes", he nodded, leaning forward a little. "I'm serious about that."  
"I can really get blood tomorrow, it's okay", I shrugged.  
"But you are hungry. I heard your stomach growling earlier." Uh. Bullseye.  
"One day won't make much of a difference, it's okay."  
"But it's weird if you buy me all that food and I give nothing in return", Jean offered.  
"You want to payback me in blood?"  
"Yeah, that makes sense, doesn't it?"  
"Maybe in your head", I laughed and shook my head. "For me it just sounds a lil bit crazy."  
"Ah man, don't be such a killjoy", Jean sighed and leaned closer to punch my shoulder. "Just accept my proposal and drink my blood."  
"You really are eager to get your blood sucked out, aren't you?"  
"If you want to say it so, then okay. Lets say that I am eager to get my blood sucked out."  
"Why, really. It can't feel great."  
"Well, it does hurt-"  
"So you are just into pain, then?" I offered, gaining an angry glare from Jean.  
"No. It hurts but it also feels amazing afterwards. That's what I was about to say."  
"Sounds like BL buttsex."  
"Please don't compare it to BL buttsex."  
"What should I compare it to, then?"  
"The feeling when you give someone a present and see the happiness on their face."  Oh, woah. That's pretty flattering, actually. Not that I'd let him win this that easily.  
  
"So I'm your personal charity object?"  
"NO, god why are you so annoying sometimes", Jean groaned and hauled himself closer to me. "I'm serious."  
"I can see it."  
"As your friend I care for your health."  
"That's a two sided feeling, my friend."  
"I don't believe that it's good for a vampire to stay with an empty stomach for too long and you are already clearly hungry, dude. Just accept the offer."  
"Accept it, and what, bite you here and now?"  
"Actually, that sounds good. Are you enough of a big boy to bite me yourself or do I need to make myself bleed to get you to do it?" Rude Jean, rude. Don't ever be rude to a vampire.  
"Try me", I hissed at his smug grin. Jean brought his hand up to the collar of the shirt that I had lent him and pulled at the side of it, revealing a good part of his shoulder.  
"Go on then", he said, the grin still plastered on his lips. Smug bastard.  
  
But it's not like I could have contradicted that he looked rather good there, the small escaping rays of light kissing his hair as they flickered through the clouds. His skin was flawless, the roughness of his well worked hands in clear contrast against the softness of his neck. His gaze was challenging and dark, his lids laying a bit closer than the usual and his brows set higher, the tilt of his head clear but his gaze unbreakable. He smelled like blueberries and me, my washing agent and deodorant but also like himself - a scent that couldn't just be washed off from his skin that easily, a scent that I could separate from a crowd now that I was used to it. His heartbeat was steady, easy in its rhythm and accompanied by that ever present small after noise that I had learned to think of as a part of him.  His lips were slightly chapped despite it being summer - I should probably teach him to carry a chap stick around all the time later on. There was something weirdly delicate in his wholeness, his thin body looking almost fragile but yet strong with the visible blood vessels of his arms.  
  
He was kind of beautiful, to be honest, with those eyes like dark honey.  
  
I leaned forward, sliding my fingers to the other side of his neck, feeling a small shiver as they pressed against the back of his neck, pulling him closer by. He followed my pull, rising up to his knees, leaning his weight on his free hand and keeping on my level, his pulse speeding up under my touch. I smiled as I gave a last glance to his face before dropping my eyes to his neck and approaching it. I enjoyed the shiver that racked him as my breath touched his skin as I leaned even closer, opening my mouth -  
  
\- and then closing it, pressing my lips against his skin into a kiss.  
  
As I pulled back, I was met with blown open eyes and the scarlet running up to his cheeks, his mouth fallen open and his face settled somewhere between utterly shocked and piqued.  
"There's no way I'd bite your neck", I breathed out. "That would hurt too much, idiot."  
I let my fingers fall down to his shoulder but didn't completely remove them from his person, meeting his constant stare with a small smile. Something in his eyes hardened, his brows settling into a frown as he dropped his hand from the shirt and lifted the other one up.  
  
The next I knew was the warmth of his hands on my cheeks and before I had time to react to his nearing face his eyes had fluttered closed, just before he crushed his lips against mine.  
  
He was kissing me, and there was nothing gentle in the way he pressed against me and bit into my lower lip.  
  
I didn't even realise to close my eyes before he backed off, too shell shocked to motion correctly, just blinking my eyes a few times at him.  
"Now we are even, idiot", he breathed out and pulled away, the scarlet of his cheeks still prominent, staring at me with those same challenging eyes as before.  
"I.... guess we are." It left my lips as a much weaker whisper than I had gone for, my voice left somewhere down my throat.  
"Yeah. I gotta borrow the toilet", Jean muttered and stood up, walking past me and through the doors without another word.  
  
I let my head hit the wall behind me, bringing my fingers to my lips where the softness of his chapped ones still lingered with the sweet taste of that lemonade. My heart was racing painfully in my chest, its beat echoing through my whole body and my throat felt like it was about to close up from the lump in it. I could feel my fingers shaking and as I closed my eyes all I could see were his brown eyelashes and that scarlet tint of his cheeks.  
  
My body was boiling up in heats that I hadn't know to be possible for a vampire and I couldn't deny it, no matter how much I wanted to I just couldn't.  
  
I liked Jean Kirstein. I really, really liked him.  
Platonic feelings ignored, full homo.  
  
I wished he hadn't kissed me, no.  Not as some payback.  
The aftertaste of that sweetness was way too bitter to bear.  
  
The tears falling down to my cheeks were hot, way too hot.  
  
I didn't want this.


	20. For ever forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to push him away. Quick, before he would get hurt because of me. Yet I wanted to keep him close and keep on pulling until he couldn't be closer. I wanted to have him as mine now and forever. But there's no 'forever' with humans. There never is.

The joke is, I think that I first fell for Jean before I even knew his name.  
  
Just humor me a little and pretend that you understand how this is possible. Just, please, do and let me try to explain it to you.  
  
You see, I never learned how to love at home, which isn't that surprising seeing how my family was. So at some point I kind of thought that I'm unable of being romantically interested in, not even mentioning _loving_ another human. I had just given up my hope on that. But then, there was that boy in the red house on the street I always walked with my dog. The boy was younger than I was, probably by several years, but at some point he started growing more and more handsome. It made my stomach do a weird little flutter that worried me for weeks, before I heard someone speaking of _butterflies_. Butterflies dancing in their tummies when they saw the person they liked. I laughed at it, because I couldn't like someone, now could I? But as I passed the house again and the boy was standing by the window, looking down at his phone with an askew grin on his lips, my stomach threw somersaults. And that had _nothing_ to do with something as calm and innocent as _butterflies_. I knew I was fucked. Royally.  
  
It became my little secret. Those jumps in my stomach and the drumming of my heart as I walked closer to his home once again. Man, what wouldn't I have given to see him each and every time that I passed by, but I liked the game of hoping too. Guessing on whether he would be home or not, whether he would be painting or not... I really liked it when he painted, even thought it meant that I could only see his profile or back. But there was always this calmness in his posture as he held the brush, his expression quite pissed off - a face I had learned to be his resting one, which was actually pretty funny. What an unfortunate face it was. I liked it.  
  
So I guess it's pretty natural that I fell for him again when we met after two years. Or, should I say - once I really met him for the first time. Jean Kirstein. A name for the face I used to adore so - a since grown up, sharpened face and a thinned frame grown out of any baby fat if it ever had had any. With even more sadness sewn into his seams than before. A voice  lower than I had expected, a laugh more boisterous than I could ever have imagined. But it all fit so well and finally, finally I had a picture of what he really was - at my fingertips, so real and so there.  
  
I was a bit scared by it - averting my gaze when he was half dressed, keeping the hunger of my eyes controlled because I couldn't let him close. I did it so well I never even looked at the scar dividing his chest before he told me about his heart, making me feel stupid for never realising.  
  
I wanted to push him away. Quick, before he would get hurt because of me. Yet I wanted to keep him close and keep on pulling until he couldn't be closer. I wanted to have him as mine now and forever. But there's no 'forever' with humans. There never is.  
  
So I told myself to stop thinking like that. I knew there was truth in my flatmates' worried looks and words when I told them I'd keep Jean as my friend. I knew. Yet I ignored it or, well, I guess that I just couldn't admit it to them. To myself? Yeah. I had. I just pretended that I hadn't.  Yet, I couldn't stop my heart from jumping when he suddenly pulled me into a hug, ignoring the dance my guts seemed to have started.  
  
Ignored it, kept ignoring it, was still ignoring it.  
  
But as his fingers traced my freshly tattooed skin, his eyes hungrily feeding on the lines carved onto my flesh I couldn't ignore it anymore. Not when he lifted his eyes as he felt my shiver, locking them to mine with a question clear in them. He wasn't sure what was going on - but he didn't hate it, it seemed, as his fingertips still ghosted over my skin. He was asking, he was thinking, he was listening as his eyes slowly rose up and then down my face and back to my eyes and I wondered if he did it to look at my lips. He would have kissed me then, I guess. He would have, but he couldn't. But what a happy "if" that was, he - we would have if he could have. But what a terrible "if" that was, when the reality was tearing us apart with his shivering breath and runaway heartbeats.  
  
Then, when he closed his trembling arms around me in the hospital, whispering oh my gods after one another, I just wanted to break into his hands. Break down and let him help me rebuild myself with his calloused fingers. Fingers that had held pencil after pencil and brush after brush, gently placing each stroke where it belonged. They would for sure be a good guide in learning how to live. But I was dead, I had been dead for two years and I still was, and there was a heartbeat in his chest that I shouldn't disturb. A wrecked, broken heartbeat with its whispering echoes that reminded me that he was alive, he was breathing and he should keep on breathing. That he was aging, growing older by each passing second, unlike me who was stuck in time, stuck on the last seconds of my breath on the bridge two years in the past. Me who would  get older and older but never, ever age again.  
  
So I pushed myself away when he was there to offer his hand. I walked away, hoping that he'd walk away to the other direction. Hoping that he'd run after me and yank me back. Feeling so happy with how he had helped me but being torn about it on the silent moments I spent alone, the turmoil of my feelings keeping me awake with the tears in my eyes.  
  
It was cruel and it was sad and I hated that I wasn't a human, not anymore and never more. Scared of eternity and all the goodbyes that it would mean for me - over and over again, seeing the people I held close ageing and dying and dying and never coming back to me. Seeing the people who remembered them and whom I could share my memories with dying again and again and soon I'd be alone with my memories of humans that had been buried for centuries with no-one who could tell me if their eyes were grey or blue the day I realised that I wasn't sure anymore. No one that could help me recollect my memories when I'd lose them and I'd lose and lose these people as the lifetimes passed me by. Maybe I would grow tired, scared and bitter, turning around the second I saw the laughter lines on someone's eyes. Laughter lines, laughter lines, laughter lines. Something I'd never have. Never. No matter how I yearned for them. I'd never get grey hair, spotted and wrinkled hands and I'd never hold a cane in my hand to support the steps that had lost their power because I would never get old. Never. Torn between these feelings forever, crying endless tears on endless nights wishing for change but it would never come, never, and I'd never be happy and alive again. Oh, how I yearned to be happy, but the happiness wasn't yearning for me, no, it never does, does it now? It's all just a part of this ruthless, endless game that I call my life, this life of being stuck between living and dead. Of not being able to die, of not being able to truly live either.  
  
So cruel.  
Sick.  
Inhuman.  
Ruthless.  
  
There's nothing beautiful in this fucked up cycle of neverending tales of centuries after centuries and we were all in love with death, all of us, but it'd never be granted to us like this. Never.  
  
He had to know this all. He did know this all, didn't he? So why did he come back to me, even after seeing the ugliness behind my polished scheme, telling me he liked me more like this. That he liked what the ugliness gave to me, that he liked what I really was. He never backed away from me, not after the bite, not after whatever I said. Never. He searched for me and he leaned on me when he needed someone. Coming behind my door with sorry lips and a wish to stay the night with such innocent trust on my ability to keep myself from hurting him. He trusted me, he knew what I was but he trusted me, he trusted _me_. He smiled at me, joked with me, listened to me and got angry for me, cared for me, asked about me, was interested in me. He was giving me all and more than I ever would have dared to ask with his simple and awkward gestures of friendship and I could never have asked more, never could have even hoped for more. There was no way I could have wished for more.  
  
So I ignored all the what ifs and the lingering touches, ignored it all and pretended that it never happened, that this was all okay and I was just bothered by my dreams and not by he himself. Keeping up the pretense that all was fine and all was good and I never would have needed or wanted more from him. But his lips were so much warmer than mine when he leaned in to kiss me and I finally I couldn't pretend anymore as the hot saltwater fell down to my cold cold cheeks.  
  
I liked him, I like him and I'm still liking him and I shouldn't and I never should have. Never.  
  
I know that I don't have much qualification as a writer. Honestly, I know that I suck at it. But despite my lack of talent in that, I know that I do know some things. Like I know that a book where an immortal falls for a mortal shouldn't be in the aisle for humor because it's just plain wrong.  
  
Cooking up comedy when all that you have are the ingredients of a tragedy; that's the sign of a bleeding heart and a broken mind. So I'd better face up the truth that all I could get out of it was going to be a tragedy and million days to shatter my heart over and over again. How cruel is that?  
  
Yet, how could I stop? How could I not fall deeper?  
Push him away?  
No, no no.  
That wouldn't work. He wouldn't leave me be. He already proved that.  
Make him believe that I hate him?  
It could work, it could.  
But I could never live with myself knowing that I intentionally hurt him like that. I couldn't leave him hanging when he trusted me.  
And I couldn't trust myself to stay away from him. What an incredibly stupid situation.  
  
If I just were a human, it'd be so much simpler. I could tell him that I like him. I could have pulled him back when he made distance between us and I could have crushed my lips against his in a manifest of my feelings for him. We could maybe even become a thing - go on dates or I don't know, be fuck buddies or what ever he'd want of me. Of course he could say no, I'm not even pretending that that wouldn't be a big possibility, but it'd be so different. Because I could tell him and I could get his reply, whatever it would be, and I'd be able to live on with the knowledge of his feelings and accept them. Then, after some decades, I could take that knowledge with me to my grave. Even before that I could be so busy knowing that there's an end to my life, that it could end whenever to be honest, because humans are so fragile, that I could maybe forget it all in the wind of the things. But I can't tell him like this and I can't forget it like this - there's no closure for me nor us because of what I am. I'm still going to be somewhere, not alive but not really dead either, remembering these moments hundreds of years past, knowing that that beloved boy has already turned into a part of nature, his body buried somewhere where it feeds the ground around him, the last of him lost in the hearts of the trees that fed on him long ago. Trees that got cut and burned and there's nothing that could bring his warmth back to me and there will never be that Jean again. No matter if I searched from the ends of the Earth, I wouldn't find him. There'd never be that boy who carved his symbol of bravery to a tree for the crying me. There'd never be that Jean that I fell for again.  
  
That's what hurts me the most, I guess. That there's an end for him when there's no end for me. That he will get his laughter lines and he will walk to the altar hand in hand with someone he loves and they will grow old together and he will get his grey hair, his wrinkled hands and he will get his children and grandchildren and after years and years he will go down that aisle again, this time in a coffin and he will be buried down with all his love and memories and all that he could have been. He will end, and somewhere in the corners of his life I will still be standing there, forever stuck in my 22-years old self's body with my ageing mind watching him go. Never being able to walk down the same route of life with him, staying stagnant as I watch him crumble and it's going to break me over and over again. With each step of him aging in front of me it _will_ break me, his heart cracking along with each of the lines slowly appearing to his light brown skin.  
  
Oh what I would give to be alive or at least truly dead instead of this state inbetween but would I have ever met him if I wasn't a vampire? I don't know. I was supposed to die that night on that bridge in a way different way than I did. Supposed to stop having a beating heart and brain that could process thoughts. I was supposed to die human but ended up with getting that possibility taken away from me. With my own, stupid little permission. Was I angry that I was saved? Yes and no. No and yes. I never know. I got to feel hope because I was saved but I also felt so much more pain, but I also met Jean. Really, truly met him.  
  
If I had stayed human, I'd have taken my adoration for the young artist with me to my grave and he would never have known who I was.  
If I had stayed human, what would have become of him that night?  
If I had stayed human I wouldn't be thinking this. I wouldn't be yearning for things I couldn't have because I'd be dead and the dead don't think, they don't feel and they don't wish for better.  
Maybe all I'm doing is making excuses to hate myself over and over again, like all these years before. Maybe I'm just too blinded to see the good on what I have been given. I guess, I'm glad I'm here to go through this pain. That I'm here, thinking, and yes I'm sad but at least this way I know him. If it wasn't for everything that I am I wouldn't have known anything after that night. There would be no me. There would be no Marco Bott and Jean Kirstein would never have kissed me.  
  
Hah. I guess that'd be the first step of that tragedy, then, but fuck it - I'm happy for it. I'm happy that I know how his lips feel on mine. Even though it wasn't a kiss in the sense I'd have wanted it to be, as it was just payback and not an expression of feelings, it was still a kiss. A kiss is a kiss and I have been granted with the knowledge of how his tastes. That's something I didn't think I'd have.  
  
"Marco?"  
I met those amber eyes as I lifted my gaze. Since when had he been there? How long had I been lost in my mind.  
"Are you happy that you met me?"  
"Hah?"  
"Or do you regret it?"  
There was confusion, so much confusion in his eyes as he studied mine. I wasn't sure if I was smiling or not or had the tear stains on my cheeks yet dried up because all that mattered at that moment was the shade of his eyes as he wondered about where I was coming from with such a weird question, so weird, so weird.  
"Of course I'm glad that I met you, Marco. Why wouldn't I be?"  
  
Oh.  
I know that I'm smiling now.  
"It's nothing. Thank you, Jean."  
"For what?" he asked unsurely.  
"For following me all those nights. For hardheadedly searching for a way to prove that I'm a vampire. For always running after me."  
"Uh, Marco, I don't want to be rude but you are not planning anything drastic, right?"  
"Why so?"  
"Because that sounded like a goodbye."  
I laughed.  
I think that I like you more than I even can understand myself.  
"Mm'm, I just realised how much I have to be thankful for."  
"Are you sure?" he asked, taking my hands onto his own. "Honestly?"  
"Yes, honestly."  
I like him.  
I like him.  
I really do like him.  
  
I leaned forward to place my forehead on his chest, listening to the surprised rise of his heartbeat as I squeezed his hands before letting them go and wrapping mine around his back.  
"Is everything alright?"  
"Everything is more than alright, Jean."  
"I'm glad to hear. Hey, um, I'm sorry."  
"Don't be."  
"But I kissed you without your permission-"  
"Does it make you feel better if I tell you that you had my permission?"  
"Wh… what do you mean I had your permission?" his breath tickled my neck, moving past my hairline.  
"I don't mind you kissing me. That's what I mean."  
  
He was silent for a long while but he didn't move. Didn't ask me to move from where I rested against his chest and the birds were starting to sing. The clouds wouldn't stay long anymore. They never did.  
"Do you mean that you are okay with casual kisses, then?" another breath on my hair, another leap of somersaults in the pits of my stomach.  
"Something like that, yeah."  
Maybe it was a lie. Yeah, It was a lie.  
I didn't want just anyone's lips on mine, but I was okay with his kisses, more than okay, and that was all that mattered now, wasn't it?  
Sometimes truth was just small unnecessary details that didn't matter, unsaid what ifs that didn't matter.  
"Can I kiss you again, then?"  
  
Forget _somersaults_ , we are talking of a whole set of Olympic level gymnastic moves here.  
  
I slowly pulled away from him to look into his eyes. He was looking at me steadily, a slight shade of pink present on his cheeks. He looked serious and no matter how much I searched his eyes I couldn't find mockery or jokes in them. I carefully lifted my hands to his cheeks, rolling my thumbs softly over the his prominent cheekbones, mapping out the dips under them to my mind. His eyes fell down a little and this time I knew he was looking at my lips, his eyes hungrily feeding on them as I caressed the lower one between my teeth. He wanted to kiss me and that knowledge was like a shot glass after shot glass of spirits, making me lightheaded and a bit lost on what was around me, lingering a comfortable warmth down to my stomach. The way his eyes followed the corner of my mouth as I lifted it to a small smile was intoxicating like a bottle of good wine on a silent night.  
  
I pulled him closer so I could lean my forehead onto his, lowering my eyes while searching for the words I had lost while drowning in the sensation of him on my fingertips. Where were my words when I needed them? Where were they when all that I could think of was the space that barely held a breath between our lips, such a fragile, fragile space where my cold breath collided with his warm one.  
  
I guess it didn't matter. Not when I let my eyes fall closed, leaning in and crossing that space. Just letting my lips touch the corner of his mouth feather light before backing away from him even thought he tried to chase me.  
"Why?" the question left my lips, passing straight to his as I hovered still close by, slowly opening my eyes. "Why do you want to kiss me?"  
He breathed in, carefully, before answering.  
"Because kissing is great and you are good guy."  
"Mmmm, I guess that's a good enough reason."  
  
Because I would never expect him to answer with the words I yearned and feared to hear. Because I didn't mind it if he was just doing it to get rid of some frustration. I didn't even mind it if he just wanted to kiss someone immortal. As long it was me who he kissed. As long as it was me. With that in my mind, I let him close the space again.  
  
I'd tell how it felt to have his chapped yet soft lips closing over mine, how it felt to bite onto them and feel the hitch of his breath, I would. But I don't really know how to.  
  
I guess the best way to explain is the feeling when you are at the top of the rollercoaster, in the first train. When you see the drop in front of you, the expectation riling you up in your stomach and your heart racing in anticipation in your chest. That's the feeling of him closing his eyes and leaning in, just before he catches my lips.  
  
When he catches them, it's the start of the downfall. The first meters of almost free fall when your train starts rolling forward. It feels like the bottom of your stomach is falling away, just to plunge back to its place when you rush into the first curve. That's the feeling of his lips pressing around my lower one.  
  
The rush of the big hill that you are racing up to, so fast that you are pressed flush against your back rest, is when he smirks into that kiss and you feel the pull of his lips on yours as you surge forward to catch his to return the favour from before.  
  
It's the feeling of unsureness of your survival. The fleeting belief of your resistance in the seventh heaven when you hang head down on that loop. When his breath hitches when you caress his lip with your teeth, the feeling of blood rushing to your head and making you weak. When you keep nibbling on his lower lip, making him bolder, hungrier, and his hands rise up to tug at your hair and he pulls away to gasp for a breath before surging right back in. It's just sudden turns and twists from there and a sudden feeling of floating as his tongue sweeps by your lip just as if passing by, retreating straight back to its place to give him space to work with his lips. But you know that it was there, the promise of something even better, the bigger loop of the rail still in front of you and you feel like screaming but you are too in it to even do so, your hands frantically grasping at the holds for your life. But this time, the handholds are his shoulder and back and you are clinging onto him, trying to pull him closer so that you can feel more of him, more of the ecstasy of the moment and the drop you wished to be never ending.  
  
That's how kissing him felt to me, I think, and I was left with the anticipation of next round as he stopped, pulling away to look behind him as the first rays of warmth hit him.  
"We need to go inside. The sun is coming up."  
That's all he said, before he laced his fingers with mine and pulled me up, leading the way past the door.  
  
There was something in the way that seeing my shirt hug his back made me feel that wasn't something that I could just press away with the word 'like'. Not with the washing waves of warmth that ran over me with the shivers tickling my spine, with the boiling of my stomach and the incredible feeling of the need to close him into my arms, the flutter of my heart when I saw the smile tugging at the corner of his red kissed lips.  
Oh. Now I understand.  
"And you haven't bitten me yet, you know? You really should take up on that offer."  
"Maybe I will."  
  
There was that smile on his lips as he offered up his arm and the little noise he let out when I pushed him to sit down to my bed before crawling next to him.  
  
It's not that I _like_ him.  
  
It's that little chuckle that escaped his lips when I ran my fingers along his arm, muttering out wonders of placements of nerves in his hands to figure out where the bite would hurt him least that made me realise it. The way he played with the fingers of my free hand that laid on his lap, the way he leaned in to kiss my forehead and told me to hurry up because it wouldn't hurt him that much and because he didn't mind.  
  
It was written in the red of his blood and the taste of it on my tongue as I pierced the skin near by his shoulder, on the upper side of his arm. In the peace I felt as he reassuringly squeezed my fingers that he still hold onto. Oh, how blind I had to have been not to realise it earlier.  
  
And I want to tell him but I can't, I couldn't and I won't. So I will just treasure it in my mind as I hold you close.  
  
I love you.  
I love you.  
I really do love you.


	21. The boy with a broken heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear nonexistent diary, is this the part where I'm supposed to write down "I kissed a handsome vampire today" or "I forced myself on someone today"?

When you have a scar dividing your chest you are never normal. It's clear in the way the mothers and fathers on the playgrounds pity me once they see that scar and gaze at my parents when I'm nine. It's written in the way my classmates treat me like any other guy until we have our first PE lesson. Even though I was still attending those back then there's the worry in my teachers eyes and the 'wow, a cool scar' words. The next morning, after someone told their parents of a boy with a scar on his chest and their parents told them that they needed to treat me carefully because I was sick and could get hurt easier everything changes. As I step into the classroom and say hi all the eyes across the room are drawn to the white structure dividing my chest even though it's covered and it's in my chest and it's making me different from them.

 

 

 

 

Different.  
Different.  
Fragile.

I'm never 'just a guy' or 'a classmate' Jean anymore. I'm 'that Jean with a heart condition'. I'm not normal. It's written in the way everyone worries their head off when I'm down with a simple cold. It's in the hushed questions behind my back and in the way everyone is scared to touch me after my first stroke, as if I could break.

Fragile.  
On the verge of breaking down.  
To be stored in cotton wool and only to be handled with silk gloves.

When I go back to PE, nobody throws me the ball and nobody picks me to be on their team. They are wary of me and the teacher always keeps his phone on him and I heard that it was because of me. That he never had it on other lessons. But he carried it so that he could call an ambulance if I collapsed. If I coughed, the room would freeze. Everyone was waiting for me to drop dead.

I get my second heart attack soon after. I'm forbidden to take my PE lessons and there's pity in the eyes of everyone who knows as I spend hours in the library while the others run. I try to go in a few times but the teachers force me to go away. Because I'm different.

I don't get my third attack for years. It's a sunny day out with my new friends from my new school and I'm 17 and I feel alive and good as we eat ice cream and laugh on the playground swings. But that's when I feel the sharp pain on my chest after some joke that Sasha made. The last I remember is the thought of not being able to hide that I'm not normal anymore before I black out on the image of Connie rapidly speaking into his phone and Sasha hovering above me. That time, when I wake up in the hospital, there are flowers by my bed and two pairs of red rimmed eyes next to the ones that I expected to be there. Connie wouldn't stop crying because it hasn't been that long since _that_ , it hasn't been long at all, and he says that he thought I'd die. We all know that he's scared to death of losing someone again and I'm so mad, so mad. So, so mad at myself for making my friend go through that pain when he deserved to be happy.

I was different and now they knew and sure, they didn't mind. They weren't bad people, of course they didn't mind. But it still was in their words and the scared movements and the way they now wanted to watch movies with me instead of going for the strolls we used to take. Written in the way they learned to say 'I love you' to me each and every time we said goodbye because they weren't sure that I'd be there tomorrow.

I still pretend that I don't know that's why as I say it back to them.

It all forced me to realise that I could die. I could become that boy who died young and never really got to live because of his faulty heart and I hated it, I hated it so. Therefore I pretended that I didn't notice and hid it with all my might and buried myself in what ifs to run away from the reality. What if I wasn't me? How would my life be if I had a normal heart? If I had never had to hear that bully shout out to girls that they shouldn't date me because I couldn't have sex with them without dying. I wouldn't have stayed up for nights and nights with his words echoing my head feeling like a failure. How would life have been if I hadn't had to listen to my mother cry to my father, or after he died, on the phone to someone, sobbing about how she couldn't stand losing me but how she knew it could happen and how she couldn't handle it, _she couldn't_ , but I'm so sick so sick _so sick_. If I hadn't had to see the look of pain in her eyes each time the doctors had to admit they didn't know how to help me. That they didn't know what had happened and why my heart acted like it did.

I knew how heart attacks looked like. I could never erase the image of that old man whom I roomed with in the hospital crouching down with one at the end of dinner. He had been so happy just moments before, telling me how we was going to get discharged tomorrow and how he would take his wife to their favourite restaurant for a dinner to celebrate their 40 th anniversary. I was the one to shout for help for him and I saw it all. All the pain and disbelief in his eyes when the nurses hurried him off. The old man never came back to that room. I never saw him again. I knew that he was dead when his wife visited again. She had tears in her eyes and she was holding the bouquet of roses she had gotten him. She was supposed to come there that day to get her husband home but all she got was a death certificate and a bag of his clothes to bring home.  She held herself together so well, all the way until she turned to give me the flowers instead. Telling me that she wished that I could make it even though he couldn't. Tears, tears darkening her blue shirt and shaking hands as she wished me goodbye and left me behind because there was nothing left for her there in the hospital. Next Saturday there was the man's name in the newspaper with the place and time of his funeral announced underneath. It was all too real, all too real to me now. I could die and I never wanted anyone to see me crouching down like that. Never.

I guess that visit was when I realised that I wanted nothing more than to be someone else, anyone but me and I couldn't stop thinking about it anymore. How if I just was someone else it would all be good. How I would be a better person and how I wouldn't hurt others the way that I do.

I got obsessed with tales of beasts and people who were different so I could feel normal but I never did. Those tales were never real. None of them carried the shame of diagnoses full of questions and unsureness. None of them carried the form of a broken boy who only dreamed to be whole.

When my dad died it got even harder because I had to see how it broke my mum. We weren't even there to see him go. He had gone peacefully in his sleep but we weren't there. He had seemed so well the evening before, laughing as he ran his fingers through the hair that I cut away when his fell off. But unlike his, mine had started growing back and he had told me to let it do so. Saying how there was a weird sensation of hope in seeing how it grew back as a darker version of that light brown mess that it had always been. Saying that he was happy to see that it was turning back to it's almost blond colour now that the sun was burning it again. Like his hair always had when he was younger. He was smiling a lot and laughed with us and I remember how happy my mother had looked and I could feel it too - we were sure that he was getting better. But little did we know of why the nurse gave us a sad smile. So it came out of nowhere when I was called to the principal's office that day, all the people in my class turning to look at me just as confused. I guess I knew the second I saw her face tho - the way that always strict woman had soft and worried look in her eyes.  
"Did he die?" I don't know how I had it in me to say it. I don't remember. I don't remember her reply or how I got to the hospital but I do remember my mother. I remember as she arrived in the hospital a minute or two after me and how she broke down in my arms as I hugged her. How we just slid down to the floor in the middle of the hospital and how she didn't have it in her to hold back her sorrow. I couldn't cry there. I just held her in my shaking arms and all I could think of was that one day. One day she could be here crying after me and I couldn't hold her anymore. That she would be alone with all of the family she built for herself gone. I couldn't stand it. I remember calling Mark to help us home because mother couldn't drive. I remember telling him that dad died and how he went silent before telling us he'd come there. It was me who settled what to do with dad with the hospital because I couldn't let mum do it, I couldn't.

My father was dead and I was there to carry him across the yard with Mark on my other side, with four of dad's closest friends behind us. We carried him and we buried him, throwing red roses to the open grave that was about to take in what was left of the man everyone loved. I remember how the roses fell so slowly, almost like a slow motion film before me as I let go of my own and how the soil that my mother threw after them with her shaking hands fell so much faster. How the same soil dyed my hands muddy brown as I took my turn to throw some in and all I could think was how it landed where I knew his face to be. How it landed over the face of a thousand smiles and those blue eyes that never looked cold and I felt sick at the bottom of my stomach. Why was I there? Why did I have to bury him? Why couldn't I support my mum better? When I washed my hands afterwards it felt like I was draining what was left of my father down the sewer with the dirt that I so fought to get from under my fingernails. He was everywhere and he was nowhere and I had never had a loss like it in my life. He was gone and he was not coming back and there we were, talking of him as he was gone and eating cake with coffee. His favourite cake, his favourite coffee. Exchanging stories of how he used to be, everyone dressed in black. There were tears, endless tears but there was laughter as they talked onwards. I had to leave somewhere in the middle because I couldn't stand listening to them talking about my father in past tense and sipping coffee when he wasn't there to do it with them. Neither could I stop thinking of what they'd serve and what they'd say if I was the one buried. Nothing too funny, I could imagine. I would be a tragedy from start to end with no sunshines to share. What a laughable existence that was.

I stopped by the park where I used to take walks with my father when he still could and I cried like a small child who had lost his parents. But I wasn't small and there was a funeral suit hugging my bones and the cold dog tags against my neck and their pair was buried with him and it was all so wrong. Standing alone in the darkening evening of that June that was all too pretty to be June and I was crying because he loved pretty evenings with colourful dawns and I hated everything because he wasn't there anymore.

Funerals were such depressing days.

I fell deeper into the world that wasn't real. Desperate to ignore reality and not getting help before the pain in my chest became somewhat unbearable. It went on and off and they didn't know anything. Nothing new, nothing cool, everything still unknown. As the pain became more and more frequent I stopped going to school and dwelled in the tales and made up worlds that were nothing like mine. I fell in love with a TV show after a TV show to fill in my days, to concentrate on thinking about how the plot would advance to ignore my own life. I never could watch through that Supernatural episode where Dean got his heart badly hurt and they said he'd die. Because I knew he would be miraculously healed when I wasn't and wouldn't be. Because real life was never, ever as cool as the shows. I hated living. I really did. Such a boring, grey world I was given.

I felt so for a long time. But then, out of nowhere that one night there was that boy with cold, cold arms in too good shape to be normal and I smelled my chance. My chance to find someone weirder than me. And yes, I was such a horrible person for doing it but I didn't care - I needed to feel normal. I needed to feel human. As I chased him I did and I loved it. Finding out the ways he was so much more broken than I was. He was supposed to be dead but he wasn't. So weird. Weirder than I could ever be. Furthermore he thought that I was normal. He didn't know, so he took my hand and told me to run and I ran and I wanted to keep on running and running. I had never felt so normal, dashing hand in hand with a boy I thought to be a vampire through empty streets turning from  asphalt to cobblestone to mud. Furthermore, I couldn't remember when I had last felt as alive as when I slid down my wall with his hand still on mine, laughing.

I realised that what I was doing was wrong when I forced the truth out of him and he spat out those words coated with insecurity: "Will you tell someone that Marco Bott is a vampire that needs to be killed? Do you think that I need to be killed?"  
As dumb as this might sound, it was only then that I realised that he had been in hiding, too. He hid himself in the shadows like I hid behind high necklines and made up excuses for lack of participation in heavy exercise. Lies lies lies. All the lies. And now that I knew I realised that maybe he's just as hurt behind his play of being normal as I was. That he felt so alone with being different. Before I realised what I was doing I had already told him about me. To soothe myself for hurting him like that, a secret for a secret. Now we were both broken and we both knew it. I felt so stupid so incredibly stupid. Because in his eyes I hadn't been broken but now I had ruined that picture by handing him the truth myself. Given him a reason to treat me differently.

But he didn't. He just grew closer. He never ignored what I said but he never unnecessarily brought it up or questioned me about it either. He knew and he minded it and made sure I didn't do anything to hurt myself but he never looked at me with the wonder of whether I was going to die right under his eyes or not. Not even after I almost did. I thought that it was because he must be used to it, his friends dying before him but then it turned out that he wasn't. He was just kind and considerate like that and he never hesitated to treat me normally. The only time he judged me based on my health was when I offered my blood for him the second time. Even then I knew it wasn't because of me this time. It was because he was so incredibly broken that he couldn't not blame himself from what had happened to me. He was so much more broken than I could ever be and he couldn't see the good in himself and I knew that I wanted to protect him. I _needed to_ because he never seemed to protect himself. But I didn't know how. Not when I knew that I'd have to leave him behind sooner or later because he wouldn't die. But I was always destined to die and I knew I could die young. How do you protect someone when you are like me?

It didn't make it easier that I wanted to kiss him. That I had wanted to kiss him all the time since I first felt his lips graze my hair and I didn't understand why. Why did I want to kiss him? Because he treated me so normally? Because he was different? Because he was handsome and looked good in front of me as I ran my fingers along the black lines on his skin? Because of the softness in his eyes when he talked of something that he liked or because of the way he'd blush when he saw me without my shirt? He was my friend. I didn't even want to think about getting a lover after I read through what the doctors said about me. I didn't want to leave anyone else than mum behind. But yet I wanted to kiss him. I really did, and when he teased me on his balcony and kissed my neck I couldn't control myself anymore. Selfish, so selfish but I didn't care anymore I _couldn't_ care anymore. I had wanted to protect him but I threw it down the drain as I pulled his face closer to mine and crushed our lips together and it felt great. But great was also the downfall of my stomach as I pulled away and saw his blown open eyes and his hesitant, shocked voice as he replied to me.

I excused myself to the toilet to think and here I was, having a moment with myself in the bathroom of a vampire that I had just kissed without his permission. I have so much class, I know. It was bad. It was really, really badly done of me. I had kissed Marco Bott. I kissed Marco? I _kissed_ him.

_Dear nonexistent diary, is this the part where I'm supposed to write down "I kissed a handsome vampire today" or "I forced myself on someone today"?_

The tiles of his bathroom had been cold under my hands as I had slid down to the floor a few minutes before and it all was still playing in my head, the way his eyes were confused and open as I closed mine before I kissed him. Without permission. That's a good thing to note.

I kissed him.  
I kissed a vampire.  
I kissed Marco.  
I kissed _a vampire_.  
I kissed him.

_Shit_. It wasn't easy but it was slowly sinking in that I had just kissed someone immortal. That means, by the odd chance that my kiss and me as a person are memorable enough to stay in his mind, someone will know about this kiss happening 300 years from now. Worse, a thousand years? Shit. Shit man. This is weird this is so fucking weird. What happened to the boy who just wanted to be normal, more than he wanted anything else? Normal boys don't go on and kiss vampires. Normal boys don't even befriend vampires. Maybe I had given up on being a normal boy the day I met Marco and decided to find out what he was. Maybe I never really wanted to be normal. Maybe I just wanted to be accepted just the way that I was. And he did.

I sighed as I stood up, leaning to the faucet. Right. I needed to clear things with him before I'd end up hurting him more. Before I'd lose a friend.

As I carefully lifted my gaze I was met with a reflection that I was familiar with. Skinny arms, visible veins, not much body hair and the little there was tended to be too blond to stand out. Marco's yellow t-shirt was too big on me, it's v-cut revealing a better part of that scar I so hated. My hair was a mess from the lack of combing, laying flat there and there and sticking up in other places. I should have combed it under the bath but of course I did not. The eyes meeting mine were tired and puffy, black rings of sleepless nights painted underneath them. It wasn't much of a flattering look and I knew that I looked more like a living dead than Marco with my still hospital pale skin.

Talking of living dead, talking of Marco. I thought that I had worked through him being a vampire but had I really? Or do I really? Marco's Marco. He's my friend and that's it. He's a polite and kind guy with a sculpture-like body and jawline combined with soft eyes and round tipped nose that gave his features a balance that was just… a Marco thing. He's someone you could lean on and trust and he also happens to be a vampire. That's all. He just won't get older like other people around him nor will he die and oh god this is just making it harder. Okay, he was a human. Two years ago, he was human. He's someone who once was a human. That's it. It's not like I would have kissed a corpse because Marco is still kind of alive. Okay, definitely not alive alive but he has a pulse and heartbeat and he kind of does that breathing thing and he blinks his eyes and moves around and man this is seriously fucked up. I'm getting sidetracked. I'm just thinking of how his lips were cold on mine again. Thinking of the kiss.

I let out a small groan. This wasn't going well at all - I couldn't be having an existential crisis over someone else's existence in the middle of their bathroom. That's just plain rude and not to mention weird. Okay _maybe_ I have earned permission to be a little weird about this all. I mean, come on, how many people actually have to handle the whole 'wow supernatural beings are actually real wtf' thing in their life? I mean, sure, I dreamed of them before - vampires, ghouls, werewolves, water spirits... what ever I happened to be into that moment. I imagined them being real, kind of believed that I believed in them but never, ever before that moment when I cut open one of Marco's pills and saw the blood inside did I really fucking believe in _anything_. All I had before that was just this hope based fake belief so that I could distract myself from the dullness of the world. Back then the part of me that thought 'yeah, no' was always present. Always, all the way until that moment before the bloody fucking proof was right before my eyes. Even then I wanted to say that no, this can't be. All over, when I saw his teeth, even when he bit me, because, in the end, who really and honestly believed in vampires? No one, god, no one. No one who didn't have to. Many dream of them, dream of them being real... but there's a certain line there. A line I never knew to exist before I had to cross it myself. I'm well aware that I probably sound like some kind of elitist asshole right now, but if you haven't had to face it then _you can't understand it_. You just can't. Not before you have been here. It just isn't something that you understand before it happens to you. Not that I still would understand it because it's all too complicated and messed up.

I also should probably leave the toilet soon to face him before he thinks that I'm jacking off to the kiss or some shit. That'd probably be even more fucked up than everything up until now. I definitely didn't need anything to be more fucked up than it already was, so I left the safety of that room with no plan on how to explain myself to him.

There was something eerie about the silent creak of that door hinge as I pushed it open and in the way my bare feet met with the wooden floor. The scent of books surrounded me, the dim light hitting the room through that open balcony door and the small windows to my right. I could see the outline of Marco's shoulder and leg from where I was, his form unmovable and somewhat stiff. But there was a sound reaching my ears - a small hitch of breath and the shake in it as it was breathed out. It sounded like he was crying and suddenly I didn't give a damn about honing my honour or how idiotic I might have seemed. If Marco was crying _again_ , then I should be there to protect him. Even if I caused it. That wouldn't be anything new, either. I'm a mess alright.

"Marco?"  
I approached him and slowly crouched down to my knees next to him, eyeing worriedly over his red rimmed eyes and tear stained cheeks. He had cried and not just a little but his gaze on mine was steady.  
"Are you happy that you met me?"  
"Hah?"  
"Or do you regret it?"  
I didn't understand. Why was he asking me that? It was so sudden, out of nowhere. Didn't he already know what my reply would be?  
"Of course I'm glad that I met you, Marco. Why wouldn't I be?"  
"It's nothing. Thank you, Jean", he replied as a smile lit up his features and he was handsome, so handsome and I was still confused.  
"For what?"  
"For following me all those nights", he started, almost chuckling. "For hardheadedly searching for a way to prove that I'm a vampire. For always running after me." That's… a little worrying.  
"Uh, Marco, I don't want to be rude but you are not planning anything drastic, right?"  
"Why so?" It was his turn to sound confused.  
"Because that sounded like a goodbye."  
He laughed. Which didn't calm me at all.  
"Mm'm, I just realised how much I have to be thankful for."  
"Are you sure?" I questioned carefully, taking his hands into my own. "Honestly?"  
"Yes, honestly", he reassured me before leaning forward to lean his forehead onto my chest. Okay, wow. That was a surprise. So was the squeeze he gave my hands before wrapping his around my back.  
"Is everything alright?" I asked him, still worried. Of course I was. He had been crying.  
"Everything is more than alright, Jean."  
"I'm glad to hear. Hey, um, I'm sorry", I offered awkwardly, not sure what to say.  
"Don't be", he mumbled onto my chest. But I am, Marco.  
"But I kissed you without your permission-"  
"Does it make you feel better if I tell you that you had my permission?" The way my heart jumped in my chest was abrupt, yet, it wasn't uncomfortable this time. But I couldn't have heard it right. There was no way I could have.  
"Wh… what do you mean I had your permission?"  
"I don't mind you kissing me. That's what I mean."

I couldn't form an answer to that. How was I supposed to interpret his words? He didn't mind kissing me? Was it that he didn't mind kissing in general or that he didn't mind kissing _me_? It couldn't be me. A bird was cooing somewhere behind us when I finally managed to speak more.  
"Do you mean that you are okay with casual kisses, then?" I breathed into his hair as I waited for his reply. It couldn't be.  
"Something like that, yeah."  
Something? What do you mean _something_? I wanted to ask him but I couldn't. Not when other words seemed way more important in my mind.  
"Can I kiss you again, then?"

Feel free to bury me now. I'm going to die of embarrassment any second now anyways.

Marco slowly pulled away from my chest and met with my eyes. He seemed to be decoding me with his eyes, searching for something but I didn't know what. He just searched and searched until he seemed happy with the answer he got. He lifted his hands and placed them on my cheeks and I wished, I really wished that he wasn't listening to my heartbeat now. It would have been so embarrassingly loud and fast and I didn't want him to realise how excited I was as his thumbs drew circles on my cheeks. I couldn't help but let my gaze fall down to his lips and stare at the way he was biting onto the lower one. I wanted to be the one to bite it for him and I wanted to kiss him, I really wanted to kiss his lips as I followed the small smile that tugged the corner of them higher. He pulled me closer, leaning his forehead against mine and I could feel his breath on my lips and I wanted to kiss him and I couldn't. I couldn't do it before I was sure that he wanted to. Not this time.

Luckily he did kiss me, just carefully pressing his lips to the corner of my mouth and he didn't let me kiss him back right away.  
"Why?" his question tickled my lips. "Why do you want to kiss me?"  
I don't know Marco. But I can't give you a reply like that.  
"Because kissing is great and you are a good guy."  
"Mmmm, I guess that's a good enough reason."  
I waited for him to continue, but he didn't. So I read the silence and his closed eyes as an okay and closed the space between us.

I have to say, it felt a lot greater than it had the first time. This time, I didn't feel bad or guilty as I felt his lips against mine. I was still surprised by how warm kissing him was. I mean, sure, the lips moving against and with mine were cool to touch but they were also a lot warmer than I would have thought them to be. Those lips were also incredibly soft, I had to give him that. Skillful, too, I found out as I couldn't prevent the hitch in my breath as he bit onto my lip. We were getting to know each others pace, my lips over his and his over mine and it felt great, so great. I couldn't stop the smirk that rose to my lips but he didn't seem to mind as he just caught my lip between his again and he bit me and when he heard that hitch of my breath he kept nibbling on it.

It just made me hungrier for his taste and I rose my hands to his hair, tugging at it and pulling away to catch a breath before dropping down to his lips again, carefully letting my tongue trace the outline of his lip before backing off, knowing that it could be too much. Marco squeezed my shoulders harder after that and I was a little afraid he'd leave bruises but I also didn't care. I was thinking of how much of a dare devil I'd be if I tried to slip him my tongue as he seemed to be into that. That's when I felt a warmth on my back.

I pulled away and turned to look behind me to see that the clouds had started to disappear, letting the sunlight beam down to the ground. I knew that we needed to get inside and I told Marco that, lacing my fingers with his and pulling him up and through the balcony door. He followed me quietly without resistance and I tried not to think about how great his face had looked as I had pulled away, all kissed lips and dusted cheeks. It was then that it crossed my mind and I turned a little to face him, feeling the smile tug at my lips as I looked at him.  
"And you haven't bitten me yet, you know? You really should take up on that offer."  
"Maybe I will", he hummed and smiled at me. I smiled back at him and offered up my arm. He had said he wouldn't bite my neck so I figured that my arm would do like the time before. I wasn't expecting him to push me down onto his bed so I let out a small, startled voice before I hit the mattress.

Marco settled down next to me and took my hand into his, running his fingers along my arm in a way that sent shivers running down my spine. He was muttering something about _nerves_ and it made me realise that he was trying his best to figure out where biting me would hurt the least. I chuckled and played with the fingers of the hand he had left on my lap, admiring the shape of it and his oval nails, leaning to kiss his forehead as he was still keeping up with his nerve talk.  
"You are slow. Hurry up and bite me, it won't hurt me that much and I don't mind, you know?"  
He bit me a little below my shoulder, his teeth piercing my skin just as easily as they had the time before. It hurt, of course it did, but it wasn't bad at all. I squeezed his fingers to let him know that it was okay and he smiled. Maybe I was  messed up in the head but I couldn't help but think that he looked beautiful with his teeth pressed into my flesh and that small smile on his lips as he pulled away and caught my eyes.  
   
"Do you feel alright, Jean?" he asked, cocking his head to the side a little. I smiled at him and nodded.  
"I'm alright, just like last time. Tired but alright."  
"Good", Marco replied. "Will you be okay waiting here while I get you bandages and stuff?"  
"Sure? You will bandage me up?"  
"Of course I will", Marco snickered. "Can't have you walking around with a visible vampire bite, can we now?"  
"I guess not."  
"Yes. Wait here, I won't take long", he reassured before standing up, giving me a last look and making his way downstairs. Apparently he didn't keep first aid stuff in his own room, then.

I listened to his steps descending down almost immediately coming back up but this time he wasn't alone. I could tell it from the additional thumps on the stairs before the door opened.  
"I think you two already know each other?" Marco said as he let in the short, blonde girl. And sure we did, somewhat.  
"Hello, Jean", Annie greeted me, a small red crossed box in her hands. "It has been a while."  
"A few months, I think", I mused. "Hello, Annie. I see it's true that you live in the same house as Marco."  
"Well, we have been flatmates for two years now", Annie replied and walked by me. "And I can see that he bit you. That's interesting."  
"Interesting? Why?" I questioned as she popped the box open.  
"Didn't he tell you? Vampires aren't really allowed to bite humans these days", Annie said as she turned to look at Marco. "You didn't tell him?"  
"I kind of did but he's really good at persuading."  
"I see", Annie muttered, picking up a disinfectant cloth and ripping the small packet open. "This might sting a little", she warned emotionlessly before pressing the cloth to my wounds.  
"Why are you taking care of me when mister former med student is standing by the door?" I questioned, hissing at the burn of the disinfectant. I hated those things.  
"That's because I'm a higher level med student than the mister former student there", Annie simply retorted and kept on cleansing my wounds. "I'm going to become a surgeon though so this isn't exactly my speciality but I'm still doing it."  
"Surgeon? What kind?" I asked, surprised.  
"Brain", she replied, folding away the now bloodstained cloth. "Do you want a My Little Pony or Moomin themed plaster?"  
"Uh, Moomin", I replied. "And brain surgeon somehow fits you."  
"Thanks", she replied as she opened the first plaster and stuck it onto my skin. She didn't say a word as she placed the second one in its place and cleared the trashes to a small bag before dropping them to Marco's trashcan.

"How's Armin?" I asked as she came back to close the box. There was a twitch in her form as she laid her gaze down.  
"I'm not sure", she replied. "He has been too busy to keep in good contact."  
"But you are meeting soon, right? His first holiday is in a few weeks if I'm not mistaken."  
"We will meet if he wants to meet me. I'm not sure that he does." There was a heaviness to her voice as she lifted the box. "But that's probably in my mind, isn't it? That he wouldn't like me anymore now that he's been away."  
I looked at her quietly, lost for words. She sighed after three or so seconds.  
"Forget that I said that. Take care and don't make Marco bite you again. See you around since you are tarrying for a night or few."  
"S-see ya", I replied by the time she was already halfway down the room. She didn't acknowledge my reply before closing Marco's door behind her and I met with his surprised gaze.

"That was a surprise", he muttered and came to sit by me. "I have never seen her show insecurity like that."  
"I guess that she really is just a human after all."  
"I guess so", Marco hummed and leaned onto his knees. "She patched you up all good?"  
"She did", I replied, looking at the green plasters on my arm. "And thanks for putting all the blame onto me, you still agreed to bite me. I didn't force you."  
"True true", he laughed. "But it's nice to get away with it once in a while."  
"You sly bastard."  
"I know I know."

We settled into silence and I watched the dust falling down in the room. It was almost funny how much dust would fill each and every room and how such a big part of it was really dead skin. Did vampires shed skin like humans? I gave Marco a look from the corner of my eye, at the soft smile and soft eyes looking somewhere that I couldn't see. He had gotten a tattoo so I guessed that vampires healed, at least.  
"Can I ask you something?" he then said, turning his eyes to meet mine. "Something you might not be comfortable answering?"  
"Sure, go on."  
"Why did you hug me when you saw my scars?"

That was a good question and a hard one to answer.  
"Did you feel sorry for me?"  
"Of course I did. But it's not like I pitied you if that's what you think."  
"What was it, then?" he asked, leaning a bit closer, studying me with his steady eyes. "What did you want to do with that hug?"  
"I wanted to reassure you. I guess that I wanted to make you happy. Tell you that it's okay now. Something like that, I'm not sure."  
"Huh", he huffed out. "That's really nice of you."  
"Not really. Anyone would do the same."  
"Would they now?" he mused. "I'm not sure if I could."  
"Really?"  
"Really. I don't know if I'd be strong enough to help someone like me. Not yet, at least."  
"And by 'someone like me' you mean...?"  
"A self harmer."  
"I see."  
"Does it bother you?"  
"Well, it naturally worries me."  
"I'm okay now. I think that I'm clean for good. Been for five months, now."  
"That's pretty amazing."  
"I know", Marco smiled and dropped his head to my shoulder. "It's been a long ride but I'm getting there."  
"Do you want to talk about any of it?"  
"To be honest I'd rather make out with you but talking is fine, too." W-woah there Marco. I glanced down at him.  
"Of course, only when you feel up to it", he chuckled at me. "Furthermore I'm pretty sure that you need to sleep. You look like you are about to pass out."  
"I swear your fangs have some kind of sleep drug on them", I sighed and let my head drop to the side to lean against his. "I get super tired when you bite me."  
"That'd actually be a correct assumption you know."  
"What, really?"  
"Yeah, really", Marco assured. "It makes our victims less likely to struggle and gives us time to flee the scene before they wake up."  
"That's really cool", I hummed and yawned. "And really effective."  
"Imagine if I drank more blood at once. You'd be unconscious before I was finished."  
"That's pretty creepy."  
"I would think that getting bit by a vampire would generally be creepy. But I haven't gone through it myself so I don't know."  
"I can bite you if that helps."  
"I'm pretty sure that you aren't a vampire, Jean."  
"Are you sure", I chuckled and turned to bury my nose in his hair. "Maybe I am and I will just chomp you at night."  
"I'm so scared that I could pee my pants now, Mr Vampire."  
"Too bad."  
"It really is. Okay, buckle up - we need to get you under the covers."  
"Yeah yeah", I muttered and forced myself up to my feet. "I'm going to borrow your loo."  
"Again?"  
"This time to actually use it instead of having existential crisis."  
"So you went away to have an existential crisis in my toilet? Really?"  
"Sadly, yes."  
"Sounds like a great way to pass time. Okay, go, I will settle the bed meanwhile."  
"Thanks."

As I had relieved myself I was faced with a made up bed with fresh looking linens on it. I hummed quietly.  
"Are you going to sleep with me?"  
"You want me to?" Marco asked from where he stood by the bookshelf.  
"Well I think it's becoming kind of a tradition."  
"You don't mind even though I will end up cuddling you half dead while you sleep?"  
"Mm, not at all."  
"Well, then", he replied and pushed the book from his hands back to the shelf. "It was good that I set up two pillows."  
"Ha, you knew this would happen, didn't you?"  
"Hoped", he confessed. "Do you want a different shirt for the night?"  
"It's too hot to sleep with a shirt on", I shrugged. "If you don't mind, that is."  
"Nah, it's okay. Could do the same myself", he replied. "You need anything else before bed or are you ready to settle in?"  
"I think I'm fine."

Marco nodded as a reply and let out a small puff of air, eyeing me before shaking his head slightly and grabbing the hem of his shirt. The way his muscles flexed as he pulled the shirt over his head was rather breathtaking and this time I wasn't too afraid to stare. He either didn't notice or pretended not to as he turned to fold his shirt and settle it nicely to the floor in front of the shelve before getting into unplugging his belt. I took it as my cue take off my shirt, reminding myself that even if we had kissed, that was it. We were just going to share a bed. Platonically.

Still, it was hard not to look down to his aniline red boxer briefs as he folded down his trousers, too. What a terrible colour but it fit him. It fit his damn perfect skin tone and the briefs snuggled close to the curves of his buttocks. I knew that my skinny frame had to look rather childish next to his toned one.  
"Do you want to sleep next to the wall?" Marco asked as he had settled down the trousers and he turned to face me. "Or the other side?"  
"Uh, by the wall", I replied as I dropped my socks atop my way messier pile of clothes, trying to keep my eyes off the bulge in front of those red briefs. "If that's okay with you."  
"Wouldn't have asked if it wasn't", he replied with a shrug. "Climb in first, then."

I did, passing him by to slip between the white sheet and wine red duvet, pressing my back to the wall to give him space. As I had settled down Marco sat on the bed and carefully set his legs under that same duvet before settling to lay on his side, facing me.  
"You don't have to press against the wall, there's enough space for you to be a little closer by", he said with a smile and yet my mind was busy thinking how Greek gods had to be jealous of his collarbones.  
"Jean?"  
"Oh, yeah", I muttered and shuffled myself a little closer to him. Close enough to be able to count his freckles if I so wanted to.

Of course I kissed him. How could I not when his eyes so clearly fell from my eyes to my lips. They were such soft kisses, just slow movements of lips against lips until he took the initiative and settled his hand against my bare chest, slowly letting it fall downwards down my ribs and to my sides. It sent shivers up my bones and I kissed him stronger, faster, and he followed suite. As his hands grew bolder, mapping out my back and the small of it he was the one to lick his way into my mouth, rolling his tongue around the tip of mine and behind my teeth as I let him in.

He explored my mouth carefully, slowly moving deeper and deeper. It was making me lightheaded and it didn't help at all when he switched his position so that he was half atop me, his right hand as support on my left side and his left one travelling across my chest and collarbones, occasionally getting up to stoke my cheek. I let my hands slide up and down his back, mesmerized by the dips in his muscles and the bumps on his spine and the way I could feel his shoulder plate shifting its place under my fingers as his hand moved on me.

He pulled off to give me the chance to breath deeper, softly kissing his way down my jawline as I was panting to catch my breath. There were shivers, shivers everywhere as the bastard ran a circle with his tongue on my neck, leaving a wet trail of kisses after him.

I couldn't prevent the surprised gasp that sounded way too much like a lewd moan that escaped my lips when he grazed his teeth against my collarbone and bit down onto it. I dropped my hand from his back to cover my mouth and I knew that there was red burning on my cheeks. I had let on how turned on I was embarrassingly loud and clear but Marco, he just chuckled against my skin and rose a little to have a look at my face before he dropped down again. Pressing his soft lips down to the top of my scar and yes, I'm ashamed to say that the voice that left me could have best been described as a shameful whimper. He carried on, grazing the scar with his teeth, kissing it, letting his tongue paint out its gnarled shape through my chest as he slowly moved further and further down on my chest as I bit into my hand to silence the noises that wanted to drop off my lips - the moans, the whimpers, all the sounds that I could never play off as nothing. My other hands had found its way into his hair, my fingers tangled into his locks. Locks that I tucked at as he closed his mouth over my skin once more, his hand falling down to my abs and I couldn't help the way my back arched to meet with his touch. I wanted to devour him and drown on his taste, fall deeper and deeper to the shivers his cold fingers left as they trailed down my skin. Wanted to have his lips on mine or on my scar forever. Wanted him to carve his name to my soul with those lips and those teeth and fingernails dragging down on my skin. I wanted him, I wanted him I wanted him.

And yes, I was the boy with a broken heart like always before, but for the first time in a long, long time I was happy to be me.


	22. On my fingertips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But I was so scared, too scared, and I’m still scared. But it’s different now -  
> I used to be scared of him getting too close to me. Now I’m scared he will never be close enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boggie is Hungarian singer behind [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5qrGOi41iwE).

“5th of July, five years back.”  
“Mm? What about it?” Marco asked, lifting his face from the book that he was reading. Supernaturalist, again.  
“That’s when we, you know...” I started, giving him a meek smile.  
“I haven’t forgotten about it, Jean”, he laughed, closing the book. “What about it?”  
“I just... it’s been almost five years.”  
“Yeah. I know”, he smiled, looking at me questioningly.  
“Five years...” I breathed out, looking at his smile drop.  
“...on a guess?” he offered silently, entwining our fingers. I squeezed his carefully.  
“Yeah. Five years on a guess.”

***

5 years earlier,  
4th of July,  
Western Trost; home  
  
  
I had so much of him on my fingertips but it wasn't **enough**.  
  
_Gasp._ I needed his breath to fill my lungs.  
_Shiver._ I needed to feel his trembling in my bones.  
_Tremble._ His fingers on my skin. I needed more, more more.  
  
Those lusted down bedroom eyes. Mine. Let them be mine now and forever.  _Please_.  
Wrecked down whimpers from his cracked up lips as I kissed my way down his white scar.  
God, it did things to me.  
Set those somersaulting butterflies **aflame**.  
  
I wanted it all.  
Now.  
Soon.  
In yesterday and in the future.  
Always.  
  
I wanted to twist time and make this shaking moment my eternity. But that's impossible impossible impossible,  
and we are not even together -  
  
**He doesn’t love me back.**  
    I couldn’t care less.  
         Not when for a heartbeat I can believe that he’s mine.  
The fall must be _so bitter -_  
_but right now that doesn’t matter._  
It doesn’t matter at all, not at all not at all not at all.  
  
This moment, it’s almost like a Boggie song,  
a beautiful melody and flow of words I can’t understand  
the way his body reacts under my lips  
the shivers like whispers that escape my ears  
the grunts and moans my melody  
oh I love this song  
I wanna play it on repeat till it gets old.  
  
There’s the arch of his back and his flesh presses harder against my fingertips  
  and I want nothing more than to grind down to meet him.  
Make him feel my weight atop him,  
to lie naked and flush _against him_ and  
meet his skin **everywhere** ,  
        have our bodies so entangled that I can't tell where I _end_ and he _starts_.  
  
I can't _can't_ can't but I want,  
really want to.  
  
My lips felt simultaneously ice cold and on fire as they left his skin.  
His eyes were flying open to meet mine. And oh, how flushed he was, his lips fallen open and cheeks tinted rose like a precious, precious flower... and time would wilt him, too. Because humans aren’t permanent at all. But we are. We are.  
  
"I think I'm keeping you awake", I whispered, hovering over him, my hand still resting by his skinny hip where I had left it. I could hear his pulse, hear its beat and that whisper was there.- ba-thump-th, ba-thump- _th_.  
Jean didn't bother to form a coherent reply, he just let out a breathy laughter as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back to the pillow. _Ba-thump-th._ Oh how I hated that **th**. I wanted it to disappear.  
"And what about it Marco?" he then said, asking for continuation to my declaration. Continuation? I never thought about it that long because I was too busy not touching him _more_. So as I remained silent he cracked open an eye and looked at me.  
"Are you going to tell me that we should stop now so that I can sleep?" he offered and I was thankful for his ability to speak up. It saved me the trouble of thinking.  
"I was planning on something like that, yeah", I agreed, carefully getting off of him to lay by his side, careful that I wouldn't let any touch linger as I untangled him from me. Jean groaned and raised his hand to cover his eyes.  
"I probably deserved that", he then muttered, barely audible even to my ears.  
"Deserved what?" I questioned,  shifting to a more comfortable position, dipping my toes under the cover as he hummed, unsure.  
“Nothing”, was what he ended up with. “Uh”, he then whispered, before looking back at me. “Sweet dreams?"  
"Sweet dreams, Jean”, I smiled back at him.  
  
Jean turned from his back to his side, facing me. His hand dropped between us without much warning and he kept his eyes on me. He was watching me, waiting for my reaction, and I could see how he was unsure. About to pull off his hand and pretend that he never even offered if he didn’t get a positive response to his bold gesture. I carefully offered him my hand and it was probably such a bad idea but I didn’t care. Not when he smiled and slid his fingers between mine, warm-cold-warm.  
  
We laid there in silence, just watching each other for a while. His hair was mussed up, straw coloured strands sticking out in all directions possible. His skin was sun kissed, a little browner than when we had met - he seemed to be the type that could barely tan even if he wanted to. Or then he just spent too much time inside escaping the heat, because that wasn’t unlikely either. But there still was a slight tan line of his shirt drawn into his skin where his dog tags laid. His dog tags that I couldn’t read. But I wanted to know what they were about - what had been worth to be carved for both him and his father. _Can I ask you something_ , I tried to question him with my eyes. He raised his eyebrows in return, confused, mouthing the word ‘what?’ into the air.  
"What do your dog tags say?" I whispered, biting back the ‘sorry’ I wanted to add. A look of abashment passed his features as his hands flew to his neck.  
"Oh, these", he laughed awkwardly, closing the tags into his fist. His brows knit together and he bit onto his lip before looking back into me, smiling hesitantly before replying.  
"Vi är starka. Vi är modiga”, he whispered, his voice rough. “ _We are strong. We are brave._ "  
He smiled softly, letting the tags loose from his grip, silver silently falling back against the pillow.  
"Maybe it's a little cliché”, he added, his voice painted insecure. I wanted to wrap him into my arms and tell him that it’s okay, _I won’t judge you, Jean_. But I stayed in my place, watching him as he collected what ever bravery he found in himself  and continued : “...but that's still what we used to tell each other.”  
Silence. He ran his hand through his hair and a strand was left standing on his forehead.  
“Dad and me, you know? We told each other  that we are strong and we are brave. That we can win our battles."  
"Your battles?" I asked without thinking. I didn’t know if I had had the right to ask it, but Jean's fingers squeezed mine reassuringly as he saw my ‘I fucked up’ wince.  
"Dad's cancer, my heart", he answered in a whisper. "Dad already lost his so I gotta go on to keep the Kirstein honour strong, you know?" His voice cracked somewhere in the middle but he continued as if it didn’t happen. I let him.  
“I think that you are doing a great job on that”, I smiled at him and squeezed his fingers reassuringly.  
“Am I?” he whispered, words heavy with sleepiness. “I don’t think that I am:”  
“What do you mean, Jean?”  
“Mm, nothing”, he yawned. “I’m about to pass out.”  
“Oh, yes, sorry”, I mumbled. “Sleep.”  
“Mmmmmh..” was all the reply that he offered me, his eyes falling closed. It didn’t take long for his breath to settle and his hand on mine to relax after that.  
  
It all would have been such a good setting for me to fall asleep to... next to the boy I loved, his hand on mine and his calm breath all the noise I could hear and the knowledge that he’d still be there in the morning. Really, it was the perfect setting for sleep, but the problem was, I was anything but sleepy. Because he looked really good in front of me. Illegally so. And those butterflies never really stopped burning even though I had gained some self control and stopped myself.  
God, I _wanted_ him.  
Too bad he was asleep or actually **good** because otherwise I’d have an even harder time handling this situation without doing anything that I’d regret.  
‘This’ being my throbbing boner-to-be.  
‘Situation’ being the need to get rid of it but lying next to my friend-crush.  
Frankly, I was rather starting to wish that I just had grinded down on Jean when I had the chance when a small voice escaped his sleepy lips. It probably wouldn’t even have been that lewd if I hadn’t been this fucking horny.  
Fuck my life, seriously.  
“Marco...”  
And don’t _you_ fucking dare whisper my name in your dreams, you _bastard_.  
Jean rolled to his back, turning his head away and flexing his neck beautifully as he did so. The dim light formed soft shadows around his prominent collarbones and _that’s it_ I’m out. I’m not handling any more of this shit.  
  
I slipped my hand from his weakened hold and rolled out of the bed, landing on all fours catlike. I listened quietly in place, waiting for any signs of waking up but there were none. I carefully rose up, giving Jean’s sleeping form a last glance before sneaking across the floor without a sound. Thank you for your lessons on that, Bertolt. I never thought I would need this skill in a situation like this tho.  
_What are you even doing Marco?_  
That’s a good question, I mused as I pulled the bathroom door closed behind me, letting the handle up slowly to minimize the clicking sound I knew the door to let out. I held my breath for a few seconds, listening.  
No signs of Jean having awoken.  
_Good._  
  
I looked awkwardly around the room. So now... what? What was I really doing? I... a quick second look around the room. No place seemed to be comfortable but at least the floor was warm. I ended up sliding down with my back against the door. Maybe it would help me hear any possible signs of awakening faster and give me time to hide... yeah.  
  
I listened to the silence, staring into the white bathroom wall. This was so fucked up.  
Well, thinking about it won’t make it any less fucked up.  
So I bit onto my lip and squeezed my eyes closed before hesitantly lowering my hand over the bulge in my boxers, cupping it.  
Deep breath.  
It’s not like you haven’t jerked off before.  
  
Just imagine it’s his hand instead.  
  
A squeeze. Oh god. Oh my god.  
Just palming my cock shouldn’t feel this good.  
But the image of his hands,  
oh  
oh how perfect his hands would be on my cock  
such sharp hands and  those visible tendons  
god how could something so bony be so _pretty_?  
  
The whimper that left my lips was so _pathetic_ and I had to bite down on my lip hard.  
**Silent** ,  
silent  
you can’t get caught.  
It sounded so much better as I imagined it as a hot and coarse whisper against my my neck.  
_Be silent, Marco. Or we will get caugh_ t, he would say as his hand would slip past the band of my boxers. _That’s right, silent_ , he’d continue as he’d lazily curl his fingers around my shaft.  
_God._  
  
I couldn’t help pulling my boxers down to my thighs for better access.  
  
But what if _I_ took the lead, turned the situation around?  
Dominated him and pushed him against the wall  
bit onto his perfect neck right by the beating pulse of his hammering heart  
listened to the whimpers that he couldn’t swallow down  
and I’d heard how his heartbeat would get more and more rapid under my lips  
I’d tell him to keep quiet,  
wondering how much more was sealed behind those lips  
Oh  
no  
I would beg him to let it out in the end. Let it all out. Let it all fall off his lips until all he could say was my name  
  _\- Marco Marco Marcomarcomarco_ as he’d come.  
How beautiful it’d sound. How absolutely breathtaking he’d be when he would barely be there any more, lost in his orgasm world.  
_My god._  
  
Red kissed lips, red kissed lips  
I’d kiss away the sadness lingering on those lips as I’d guide him through his orgasm  
oh  
oh how fucking perfect that boy is  
those that fleck with gold when the sun hits them  
I want to drown in his eyes.  
  
Flick of wrist and tilt of head  
teeth seizing into flesh  
ragged, broken breaths and half lost words  
god how beautiful he is  
  
I couldn’t prevent the buck of my hips,  
fucking my own hand wishing it was his  
his his his  
his perfect body pressed against my back instead of the damn door  
his scent, his voice, his body his _name_  
it was all I could think of as I came onto my own own hand and stomach.  
  
... the regret was instant.  
Really, when isn’t it?  
The cooling come in my hands felt dirtier than ever, presenting the sticky physical form of that regret.  
  
So, I just jerked off to the thought of my friend. While he’s innocently sleeping on my bed in the room nearby. How... great.  
Well at least I didn’t do it next to him. That’d have been worse. _I guess._  
  
The disgust was seeping through my mind as I kicked myself up and turned on the faucet. Somewhere in my mind I knew that it could be a bad idea - it could wake Jean up but I needed to wash off the shame as fast as possible.  
  
The water was cold against my flushed skin and it didn’t have the power to baptise me - the eyes I met with in the mirror were still the ones of a sinner.  
  
Brown eyes, black messed up hair. Freckles, freckles everywhere to be seen against pale pale skin - it was like some sick joke of a chocolate chip cookie dough. I hated it. And there were the scars I never really learned to hate, never really knew why to hate even though I had learned that most people did. Maybe I just never learned out of hating myself to hate something so small. Or maybe I was weirdly attached to those white tally marks since they were proof that I was alive. Maybe that was romanticizing this all - I don’t know. I didn’t hate them. Nor did I hate the tattoo crawling across my skin but I still wanted nothing more than to punch the face in the mirror and watch it falling to the floor with the shards of shattered glass.  
  
But I didn’t.  
Instead, I closed the tap and sighed, giving the man in the mirror one last murderous look before turning round and pointlessly staring at the white wall.  
Now what? I go back to sleep next to him now that my softened cock is tugged back into my boxers? Go lie there and pretend that I never suffocated the cry of his name as I came after shamelessly fucking my own hand?  
  
Disgusting.  
  
But what else could I even do? Sleep on the floor? Force myself to stay awake and give him a made up excuse in the morning as he’d meet with my black bagged eyes. Smile at him after agonizing over what I did for hours? No, no thank you. I’m fucking tired. I want to sleep. And if I sleep on the sofa he’s going to ask questions - ask if he did something. Ask what’s wrong. After all the times I had slept by his side he would never believe me if  I told him that I couldn’t sleep by someone else.  
  
What else could I do than bathe in my self loathing and go back to the bed?  
I don’t know.  
Still my hands are shaking on the handle as I open the door and slip back to the other side and sneaked to the bed.  
  
How am I going to face him in the morning?  
  
I stared at his sleeping form, at the naked skin of his utter body I wanted to mark mine. I shouldn’t... I can’t stop now.  
He doesn’t know. So it can’t hurt him.  
The dip of the bed under my knees still felt sinful as ever.  
What right did I have to lie next to him after all I had done?  
None. What a terrible, terrible friend I was.  
  
"Marco?"  
Jean's eyes were barely open, his voice tired and sleepy.  
"Is everything alright?" he asked after blinking a few times, trying to have a better look at me. Don't. You don't need to see these tears.  
  
Tears?  
Why am I...  
Shame? Sadness?  
I don’t even know myself any more.  
  
His fingers found mine where I had left them frozen mid air but I couldn't. I couldn't let him touch me so innocently. When he didn’t know, he didn’t know what those fingers had just done. So I tugged my hand away  
from his reach as our skins collided, as if the spark of fire was never even burning.  
_Please don’t touch me._  
"Marco?" that was it. The surprise in his voice.  
_He doesn’t deserve this_ \- I can’t hurt him because I fucked up. But I couldn't look at him. Couldn’t face him.  
  
I gazed over at my small sofa and the TV table instead. Searching for answers and pathways to the secrets of the universe in the tired blue fabric and waxed wood. But all they had to offer were memories of his lips on my cheek when he turned my joke against me. That time, when he thought I would kill him when I was behind his door.  
I should have left him alone then. I should have scared him so badly he would never have had the nerve to tell anyone what I was. But I was so scared, too scared, and I’m still scared. But it’s different now -  
I used to be scared of him getting too close to me. Now I’m scared he will never be close enough.  
  
How stupid is that?  
  
"I'm OK, Jean", I whispered because I knew, I knew that his eyes were still on me. "I'm OK."  
Yeah. I'm OK.  
And that was a lie.  
“Marco. You can tell me what’s wrong.” No. No no no. Don’t be kind to me, Jean. Don’t.  
“I meant it”, I whispered, turning my eyes even further from where he was. The door to my bathroom seemed to stare back at me, accusing me of all that I had just wronged. “Jean, please. I’m fine.”  
“Then look at me as you say it.”  
“You are cliché”, I informed him as I kept my eyes at the door. I could hear Jean sigh and then the rustle of bedclothes. Before I had much time to react he popped up in front of me.  
“I knew that you were crying”, he muttered and rose his fingers to my cheek. I stared at him, bewildered and rooted at my footing. His eyes were tired, a line drawn underneath as he studied my face, jumping from feature to feature as his teeth pressed into his lower lip.  
“Okay”, he sighed, the corner of his mouth twitching a little as if he wanted to smile but couldn’t. But his eyes were serious and brows low so I knew it couldn’t be that.  
“This might be a terrible idea”, he said, lifting this eyes to mine. “And even more horrible of a timing, but I need to tell you something Marco. Will you listen to me?”  
“Y-yeah”, I choked out. _Did he hear me? Does he know?_  
“I don’t know how to say this”, Jean breathed, retreating his fingers from my cheek, leaving has hoovering in lose fist by his chest. “I should probably wait till the morning but... I don’t know if I will be brave enough to say this then. So... to say it simply I.. uh. I think that I like you.”  
  
_...what?_  
_I... no I-_  
  
“And I don’t mean as friends”, he said and oh god he was _shaking_. ”Or, you know. I do... like you as a friend, too. _Of course_ I do. But I just, you know, kinda want to kiss you and”, he flared red then, shutting his mouth and shaking his head a little, letting out a shaky breath and pressing his fist into a tighter ball. “A-and stuff, you know.”  
I stared at him, my mouth fallen open.  
This is not happening.  
I am dreaming.  
I willed my hand up and pinched my cheek. It hurt.  
“Uh, Marco, are you okay-?”  
“You like me?”  
“Yeah. Uh. Sorry”, Jean offered with a shrug and awkward smile. I could see that he was crumbling behind his mask. “How do you... feel about it?”  
“I. I think I’m dreaming”, I heaved out. It couldn’t be. This wasn’t happening.  
I pinched my cheek again. It still hurt.  
“You... are not joking, right?” I managed to ask. My heart was starting to catch up with what was happening and it felt like my chest was about to burst.  
“Why would I joke about this?” Jean breathed out, looking rather put off by my suggestion. Even... hurt?  
  
Oh my god. Oh my god.  
He likes me.  
I could feel the heat tingling at my cheeks.  
“I like you too”, I burst out, immediately slamming my hand to cover my mouth. I. No.  
_This is so wrong._  
“Oh”, Jean whispered, redness sneaking up his cheeks. “Oh I... woah I... I hoped so but.. wow.”  
  
_But Jean, I’m a vampire._  
Please don’t look at me that way.  
Please never stop looking at me that way.  
  
He’s human, Marco. He’s human and you are not.  
  
“So I was wondering”, Jean said, stopping to clear his throat. “D-do you want to go out with me or something?”  
This isn’t happening. This is way too fucking **cruel**.  
“I can’t”, I breathed out, lowering my eyes to my feet. I didn’t want this. I wanted to go back in time. Just not kiss him back. No... I should never have let him with me for the sandwich tour. I should never have given him that coffee. Maybe I shouldn’t even have s... no. That I would never take back.  
I would always, always save him.  
Even if it meant breaking my own heart.  
“ I- I’m a vampire, Jean.” There. He should understand.  
There was no way a human could date a vampire.  
“So what?”  
  
I snapped my gaze up to meet with his. His face was twisted in grimace.  
“I know that you are a vampire”, he whispered. “And I know that I’m a dying with five years left in guess”, he continued with a shrug that fought against his expression as his voice wavered slightly.  “I... you know what? I want to live for those years.  I’m... I’m tired of retreating from my battles Marco”, he said and lifted his mouth into a soft smile. “I want to live. I want to live the best that I can.”  
“Jean, what -” _do you mean five years_ , I wanted to ask but he never let me as he pressed his palm against my bare chest, atop my heart and cut my speech.  
“You like me”, he breathed out. “At least a little. Don’t you want to do something about what ever you feel here-”, he said and curled his fingers against my skin, his nails scratching my skin. “I mean. If you want to be just a... a _friend_ with benefits or something, that’s okay.  I just... would prefer to have it all with all this... ugly feeling mess and h-holding your h-hand so please. _Please, Marco._ Be honest with me.”  
  
I wanted to weep. I mean, the tears were already down my cheeks but I couldn’t let out a sound. I wanted to scream because _this isn’t fair_ , I’m supposed to be happy. I should be able to kiss him right here now and shout _yes, god yes I want to go out with you_ but I can’t. I can’t.  
My hands were shaking like I was down with a fever and I could barely see in front of me as I lifted them to cover my eyes.  
“I like you”, I choked out. “I d-do l-l-l-like y-y-you.”  
I heard a step and then his hands were curling around me, pulling me against his chest.  
“I don’t care that you are a vampire, Marco”, he whispered onto my hair. “I... that’s probably so selfish of me to say? I do care. I care so fucking much that you are a vampire because that’s _you_. You are a vampire and I fell for _you_. All of you. Your stupid ass grin and rude ass comebacks, your freckles, your kindness, your retreating teeth a-and voice and just... you. So I do care that you are a vampire and I can see that I hurt you.”  
“No”, I exclaimed to his chest. “No you didn’t... I... I just. I would just hurt you, Jean. And... I couldn’t live with that.”  
He stayed silent for a while, his heartbeat steady in my ear.  
“You know, you might end up hurting me”, he then said. “But I’m sure it’d be worth the pain. Maybe this is a terrible idea... but I would... really like to try us out, Marco. I want to take you out for a date and call you my boyfriend. I... I’m horrible, I know that. I’m so selfish... I know it’s worse for you because you... you would have to be the one who... stays behind when I die.”  
“No”, I whispered. “Stop, Jean.”  
“Sorry”, he whispered and pressed his lips to my hair.  
I pulled my hands from between us, wrapping them behind him to bring our naked chests together. He was so much warmer than I was and I wondered how he didn’t feel cold when hugging me.  
“This is dumb”, I muttered into his collarbone. “I wish we had  met two years ago. When I was still human.”  
“Maybe that would have been easier”, Jean agreed, slowly rising his hand to pet my hair. “But I was in pieces back then and so were you. I don’t think we would have been really good company to each other.”  
“Yeah”, I laughed. “I was too busy dying to think about anything else.”  
Jeans hands around me tightened at my words.  
“I will... I will be selfish again”, he muttered. “But I’m so fucking happy that that guy turned you that night.”  
“Yeah”, I hummed. “I owe him a lot but I do wish he would just have knocked me out and carried into a hospital or something. Turning me into an  immortal being was a bit... dramatic, I’d say.”  
“... you have a point”, Jean agreed. “But you are here because of him no matter. Tell him thanks from me if you are in contact.”  
“You are horrible”, I snorted. “Asking me to say thanks to my own murderer, that’s a lot of nerve there.”  
“You know what I mean.”  
“I know”, I smiled. “Maybe I will thank him too.”  
“You haven’t?”  
“No. I am still pissed at him”, I confessed. “I didn’t exactly want to stay alive and it’s still... a struggle to see the good sometimes even now. But I have to admit that I’m rather happy that I got to meet you.”  
“Just rather happy?” Jean laughed, twisting a strand of my hair around his finger. “Or actually happy?”  
“Happy”, I whispered, feeling the smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.  
  
This was probably a horrible idea. A horrible, horrible idea.  
“Alright”, I said, pulling a bit further away from him. “Promise me something?”  
“I can’t promise anything before I know what I need to promise”, Jean replied cautiously. I nodded. “Fair enough. Please promise me that no matter what you live your life to the fullest.”  
“I...  where’s this coming from?” he asked, confused. “I hate to ask this again so soon but Marco, you aren’t -”  
“I’m not planning anything drastic, no”, I replied before he could finish. “This is about you now.”  
“I don’t understand you, then.”  
“I want you to laugh a lot”, I started. “I want you to smile and laugh without a care in the world even if at some point I can’t be there with you anymore. I want you to take everything out of your life and get  laughter lines, no matter what. Can you promise me that?”  
“I can’t”, Jean replied without missing a beat. “I can’t promise to stay alive long enough to get wrinkled. But I can promise to live my life to the fullest. That’s what I’m already trying to do, if you have been listening. Is that good enough to you?”  
“I guess it’s the best I’m going to get”, I hummed. “Alright. Yes.”  
“Yes?”  
“As in yes. Lets try this out, _boyfriend_.”  
  
This is such a horrible, horrible idea. There’s no way this could end well and without heartbreak. We are not here for happy endings - there’s no way we can have one in this tragedy.  
  
Yet his lips felt so right as he pulled me into a kiss, whispering _boyfriend, my boyfriend_ between the smothering pecks and there were tears of happiness in his eyes that he laughed off and dried from the corners of his eyes before leaning in to kiss me again.  
  
This time, as we laid down, he was the one to initiate the touch. I laid my head against his chest, our legs tangled under the bedsheets and ran his hands through my hair giddy like a small child all the way until he fell asleep. I stayed on my place, listening to the broken heartbeat I so adored.  
  
Five years, he had said. _‘Five years on a guess.’_  
What it meant was the last wonder in my mind as I drifted to sleep.

***

This time, I knew that I was in a dream as I stared into her eyes.  
“I know that you are not real.”  
“I don’t mind”, she said and smiled. “Why are you here Jean? You have been in this dream already.”  
“I need to see something again”, I replied, sighing. “Let me see it.”  
“Sure”, she replied. “By all means you are free to move.”  
  
I stepped past her to the crowd that was still frozen in place, zigzagging through the standing people. Past Eren holding Mikasa and Armin, past my parents. All of them.  
  
I still looked the same as last time. I was still surrounded by those white and blue roses and my suit was still shockingly blue over my unmovable corpse. There was still that smile that shouldn’t be there on my frozen lips.  
“I’m dying soon, aren’t I?” I asked the woman as she came to a stop next to me, her dress a black mourning one. She looked at me as she lowered her veil to hide her face.  
“It might be”, she said, pointing at the clock on my hand. A gaze on it was enough.  
“Eleventh moment”, I sighed quietly. “I guess I should have known it.”  
“No one can know their life beforehand”, the woman reminded me quietly. “One can only guess, but never know.”  
“Not even you?” I asked her and she shook her head.  
“Not even me”, she admitted with sadness in her voice. “But I’m good at guessing.”  
“What’s your guess?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Of how I die.”  
  
She stood silent for a while, pursuing her pink rose petal lips slightly.  
“I’m assuming he will kill you.”  
“He?”  
“Yes”, she huffed. “You know who I mean. The tar man, or what ever you called him in this dream back then.”  
“Marco?” I asked. She lifted her eyes, surprised.  
“Marco? That’s his name?” she questioned me.  
“You didn’t know?”  
“No”, she whispered. “I didn’t.”  
“But you know him somehow, don’t you?”  
“Yes”, she confirmed. “He’s one of my children.”  
“Your children?”  
She was silent again, hesitant.  
“You... know what he is, right?” she then asked, looking at me. I nodded.  
“He’s a vampire.”  
“Good”, she replied. “That’s good...  Jean’s your name, right?”  
“I thought that you knew?”  
“Well, I just hoped that it was yours”, she replied sadly. “I never know anyone’s name before it’s told to me. It’s not like you would have it tattooed on your body. I just... he, Marco. Your name. He thinks about it often.”  
She sounded different than she usually did. Tired. Really, really tired. None of her usually cheekiness seemed to be left in the sad tone of her voice.  
“Jean Kirstein is my real name”, I told her. She hummed a silent ‘I see’ under her breath. “But why do you know what Marco thinks?” I questioned her, making her eyebrows twitch.  
“Well, Jean”, she mumbled. “I think we shouldn’t talk about this here - there are some things you shouldn’t say over someone’s own corpse. So give me a second.”  
She sighed, looking into the distance breathing words I couldn’t understand next to a quiet _‘but where?’_ that I could. I waited patiently as she pondered over what ever were her opinions. The hell I knew. This dream wasn’t listening to what I wanted so I guessed that I wasn’t in control of it. Which was weird. I usually could control the dreams that I knew to be dreams.  
“I need coffee”, the woman then smiled, giving me a sorry smile. “So lets go home.”  
  
I didn’t have time to ask what she meant by ‘home’ before the scenery had already changed and the crowd was replace by cream coloured walls of a room. Of a kitchen, to be more exact.  
“Please sit down”, she said and pointed to  my left. I followed her finger to have a look at the small glass table and the two red chairs on the opposite sides of it. I walked over to it and sat down in the chair closer by while she walked to open one of the mint green cupboards, pulling out a small jar.  
“Do you want coffee?” she asked, looking back up at me.  
“But this is a dream”, I answered dumbly. I could smell the coffee though. That was weird. These dreams were so weird.  
“What does it being a dream prevent you from drinking coffee?” the woman asked, tilting her head to the side.  
“I... guess it doesn’t”, I offered and she smiled.  
“Correct. So, coffee?”  
“Yes, please”, I replied because what did I have to lose now.  
“Allergic to hazelnuts?”  
“Hah? No?”  
“Good”, she replied and pulled out another jar and placed it to the table next to the first one. Then she pulled open another door and took an old fashioned coffee pot into her hands.  
“You make coffee traditionally?” I asked her, pointing out to the pot.  
“It’s better than one made with coffee machines”, she shrugged and filled the pot with water. “At least I think so.”  
“I haven’t had coffee made like this after grandma died”, I admitted.  
“How long ago was that?” she asked, measuring spoonfuls of coffee from the jars to the pot, then placing the pot to the stove, starting it.  
“I think it has been six years.”  
“What a shame”, she hummed, pulling the veil finally off her face and placing it on the table.  
  
She walked across the small room to sit on the other chair, pulling the bun her hair was in open on the way. Her hair fell down to her shoulders slightly curled. That was new.  
“Sorry for the funeral get up”, she laughed, removing the black cardigan she had had on, leaving on the black dress with lace top. “I didn’t expect you to pull me there but boom, you did.”  
“I pulled you there?” I asked in disbelief and she nodded.  
“Yes. You were really persistent on trying to get back into that dream so I let you in. Had to dress accordingly.”  
  
I looked at her quietly. Her delicate features were fair, almost milk white, and her eyes round and and huge.  
“You are not the doom, are you?” I asked her.  
“Oh, you remember that dream”, she smiled, running her hand through her hair. “That was a dramatic one.”  
“Yeah, thanks for killing me and so on”, I retorted. “But seriously. You are not, are you?”  
“No, I’m not”, she smiled, pulling a necklace from under her dress. it was just one pearl and simple, almost impossibly thin looking silver chain. “But I’m not a human either.”  
“I have realised that”, I replied, barely resisting the urge to just reply with ‘no shit, Sherlock’. “But what are you then?”  
“That’s a good question”, she admitted. “Remember how I called him one of my children?”  
“I don’t have a tendency to forget things that happened what, ten minutes ago?”  
“One never knows”, she laughed. “But, yes. I’m his mother.”  
“No, you are not”, I replied.  
“Well, not biologically”, she replied with a smile. “Never had my own children in that way. But I’m still his mother. His, and many, many others. I have thousands of children.”  
“What are you then, mother nature?” I asked sarcastically. It seemed to rather amuse her.  
“Well, mother unnatural would be more accurate”, she mused. “Or ‘a mother of all the vampires’.”  
“You are shitting me.”  
“Am not”, she replied quietly, standing up. “A second, the coffee.”  
  
I stayed silent until she returned with two cups, coffee pot and few other items on her tray and poured me some of the coffee.  
“Milk?”  
“Yeah.”  
She poured me that, too. Then she mixed her own cup before sitting down again.  
“Do you have a name?” I asked her before carefully sipping my coffee. She was right. It was better than machine made coffee.  
“I do”, she replied. “Are you curious to know it?”  
“Well, it would make addressing you easier, ‘o mother of all the vampires’.”  
“Ah, always the sarcastic”, she laughed. “But why, yes. My name is Historia.”  
“Historia?” I questioned. She nodded.  
“Means history. Pretty fitting, isn’t it?”  
“Guess so”, I shrugged. This dream was running wild, it seemed. _Really wild_ , I thought as I tasted the hot coffee again. “So. You are a vampire - the first one there ever was.”  
“Almost correct”, she said, sipping at her own coffee. “Not the first, but the first that could turn humans.”  
“How... what?”  
“You heard me”, she answered. “Not the first vampire but the first one who could turn humans. So the mother of all modern, human born vampires.”  
“How come-”  
“Long story short”, she cut in. “I can turn humans. Vampires born from me can mostly turn humans.”  
“But how come you become a vampire then?”  
“I was born one.”  
“But-”  
“My family was full of vampires. I was born to vampire parents.”  
“I don’t understand.”  
“You don’t need to. They aren’t alive anymore.”  
That got my attention.  
“I thought that you can’t die.”  
“Well, I don’t know about me or the vampires born from me”, she replied quietly. “But yes. we can die. But it’s very painful and takes a very long time.”  
“How does it happen?”  
  
She - Historia - sighed, setting her cup down.  
“A vampire that stops drinking human blood dies. In some years.”  
“And your family all killed themselves?”  
“Yes.”  
“Why?”  
“I don’t want to tell you that.”  
“Okay. Why can you see into Marco’s mind?”  
“I don’t know”, Historia grimaced. “I just can travel from my children’s mind to mind when I’m asleep. If they are also asleep, that’s it.”  
“You are asleep now, too?” I asked her. She nodded.  
“That brings me to a question that I have for you”, she added and pointed her finger at me. “You are not a vampire Jean. So why can I see into your thoughts?”  
“Why are you asking _me_?” I quivered.  “How the hell am I supposed to know?”  
“Well I _don’t_ so I hoped that you’d have some insight to it.”  
“Well, I have been bitten a few times?” I offered.  
“No no no, it doesn’t work that way!” she screeched. “I can’t see into the victim’s mind! If I could I wouldn’t be this confused. Furthermore I have known of you since you were _little_.”  
“Oh, wow”, I replied. “Then I don’t know.”  
“Neither do I. It scares me.”  
  
We stared at each other quietly.  
“There probably isn’t much that you don’t know at your age?”  
“It tends to be so, yeah.”  
  
I sipped at my coffee, not knowing what to say anymore. I could hear a clock ticking somewhere, but it wasn’t the one on my wrist.  
“Can I ask you something else?” she asked after a while. I nodded.  
“What is he to you?”  
I knew she meant Marco.  
“He’s my friend.”  
“Is that all?”  
“Well, I love him.”  
Wait. _Wait a fucking second._  
“Holy fuck I do love him”, I heaved out. Historia looked rather amused at my reaction.  
“You only just realised?”  
“I only just realised”, I confessed and looked at her. “I just. Holy shit I’m such an idiot.”  
“You truly are”, she smiled. “I guessed ages ago.”  
“How?”  
“Well, you kind of dreamed of him sucking off your dick.”  
  
I almost choked on my coffee.  
“W-Wha-what?” I sputtered and she full on laughed at my face.  
“You don’t remember that one?” she giggled, slamming her hand to the table. “My god you asked him if he was your dog and if he’d do anything for you and he sucked your dick oh my god you don’t remember it ahaha-”  
“It can’t be that funny!” I exclaimed, feeling the heat in my cheeks. This sucked. This sucked balls.  
“He sure as hell remembers it Jean”, she sang out. “Remembers mouthing your cock through white boxer briefs in the sno-”  
“What do you mean ‘he remembers’?” I asked. “But it’s my dream?”  
“Oh”, she said, her laughter stopping. “He has seen all the same dreams that you remember seeing with him. And a few that you don’t remember. And a few that neither of you do.“  
“What?”  
“These are no normal dreams Jean. I thought you might have realised it by now.”  
“I.. why do we share our dreams?” I asked her. Historia’s face fell again.  
“I don’t know. I told you that I have known of you since you were a little, right?”  
“You did?”  
“I never could get into your dreams before you met Marco. To be more exact, before he bit you.”  
  
The silence was there again, hanging in the air between us.  
“What does that mean?” I asked her but she just shook her head.  
“I would tell you if I knew. I really would. But I don’t know. I just don’t know. I don’t know what you are Jean.”  
“What I am?”  
“Yes, what you are”, she replied, eyeing me carefully. “I don’t think you are... completely human, if that makes sense to you.”  
“I am human”, I replied.  
“Are you?” she asked, before sighing. “Sorry. That was rude of me. Maybe you are human. But that doesn’t explain why we can do this.”  
“I guess it doesn’t”, I agreed.  
  
There was a clank in the distance. Historia’s head snapped towards the voice.  
“Shit”, she hissed. “I need to wake up.”  
“Why?”  
“Someone is coming for me”, she replied hurriedly. “Listen - you can keep your realisation of your feelings but I need you to forget this dream.”  
“What-”  
“Good night, Jean”, she said and leaned over the table to flick my forehead. “You should wake up now.”

***

5 years earlier,  
5th of July,  
Western Trost; Marco’s home  
  
The first thought that crossed my mind as I woke up and saw him by the bed was ‘I love you’. The second was ‘holy fuck, I’m an idiot for not realising it earlier come on man you were sucking his face off’. The third went somewhere along the lines of ‘I need to tell him’ but got soon replaced by ‘why does he look so sad?’.  
  
Time was pretty much midnight, according to the clock on the wall pretty much straight above my head. It was bright like usual on summer nights - not really sunny because we were too South to have the whole real midnight sun experience, but it didn’t really get dusky here either. The kind of bright that I could make out the tears stuck on his eyes without much trouble.  
“Marco?”  
He moved his gaze to me but didn’t reply, seemingly freezing into his place.  
"Is everything alright?"  
Still no reply. I reached for his hand, trying to grasp his hand but as I touched him he flinched away, pulling his fingers out of my reach. My heart jumped at surprise and pain. That... hurt more than I expected.  
“Marco?” I tried again, carefully. But he just turned his face away, his expression twisted and sad. Eyeing something on the side of the room where the sofa was, far away from where I was.  I didn’t understand at all.  
“I’m OK, Jean”, he whispered, still not looking at me. His face was painted with shadows, his brows down. They squinted even lower and his eyes fell a little before he let out another shaky ‘I’m OK’.  
Yeah, right. I might not be mister perfect social skills but I know that no one is fine when they sound like that.  
“Marco. You can tell me what’s wrong”, I offered him, hoping to reach him. He twisted even further from me and I couldn’t even tell where the eyes in his profile were directed at anymore.  
“I meant it. Jean, please. I’m fine”, he whispered in a reply.  
“Then look at me as you say it.”  
“You are cliché.” Okay, well, maybe I was. Time to change tactics.  
  
I scooted over the bedand  before he had time to react I was already in front of him, looking straight into his surprised eyes.  
“I knew that you were crying”, I muttered and rose my fingers carefully to his cheek, studying his features. He seemed almost shell shocked, so stiff and his expression frozen to a surprise. No matter how I looked at him he wasn’t okay - I couldn’t tell what was wrong at all but he seemed scared... of me?  
_What did I do?_  
I bit onto my lip to stop the question.  
“Okay”, I let out, my mind back at the third thought. I wanted to tell him - I needed to. This couldn’t be a good idea but maybe it would... at least help him to snap out of whatever was haunting his mind now.  
“This might be a terrible idea”, I said and lifted my eyes to his - I am not even sure when my gaze had fallen from them but it had. There was no might in this -this must be a terrible idea. “And even more horrible of a timing”, I added without much grace. “But I need to tell you something Marco. Will you listen to me?”  
_Will you listen to my confession and turn me down?_  
“Y-yeah”, he answered, his voice rather choked and his eyes definitely scared now. What was he thinking? What did he think that I was about to say? What the hell was making him so scared?  
“I don’t know how to say this”, I breathed out and pulled my fingers away from his cheek, curling them into a fist by my chest. I probably shouldn’t touch him when telling this. I should probably give him the chance to back away as I possibly ruin our friendship a little.  
Nah. It’s _Marco._ I don’t think he’s gonna get too bothered even if I admit my crush on him. He’s too kind... to mind it, I think.  
“I should probably wait till the morning but”, I cut out in the middle, faltering in my way. What if he did mind? What if he was... disgusted by it? By the thought of me thinking of him that way?  
He kissed you, Jean. He can’t be that disgusted by you. And he’s gay so....  
“I don’t know if I will be brave enough to say this then.” I know. I wouldn’t. It’s that stupid 3 AM bravery in my veins now, just a little early on its trip round my cells.    
“So... to say it simply I.. uh. I think that I like you.”  
  
_Well that could have been more graceful for sure._  
  
“And I don’t mean as friends”, I hurried to add, hating the way my hands shook. How my whole body seemed to have started shaking.  
”Or, you know. I do... like you as a friend, too. _Of course_ I do. ” No Jean no that is not going well. It sounds like you are backing off. “But I just, you know, kinda want to kiss you and” I clamped my mouth shut. Definitely time to tune down the honesty a little holy cow you can’t say that. I shook my head to clear my thoughts and curled my fists into tighter balls, trying to ground myself with the feeling of my nails digging into the flesh of my palms. Okay. You still have time to save this.  
”A-and stuff, you know.”  
That’s definitely not what they call ‘saving it’, _idiot_.  
  
I looked at him shyly, waiting for a comeback, but he just stared at me with his mouth fallen a little open. I know Marco, I know. I shocked myself too.  
What I did not expect was the way he suddenly pinched his cheek and _winced_.  
“Uh, Marco, are you okay-”  
“You like me?” he stammered without a warning, his hand still resting on the cheek he pinched. The disbelief in his voice hurt a little more than I’d have liked to admit. I could feel the pressure crawling up my throat and no, in the name of all that’s holy and unholy don’t you dare to cry now Jean. That’s shitty. That’s a really shitty thing to do.  
“Yeah. Uh. Sorry”, I offered with the best smile I could muster and added a shrug to it, hoping that it’d help me to look less... desperate as I continued: “How do you... feel about it?”  
“I. I think I’m dreaming” he heaved out. _Dreaming? But do you mean as in a nightmare or a daydream?_ “You... are not joking, right?” Oh. Wow. This sucks.  
“Why would I joke about this?” I asked, almost spitting it out. What kind of person do you think that I am, Marco? What kind of shit head fake confesses to someone who is crying? Or fake confesses at all?  
I couldn’t even look at him anymore. I wanted to say ‘you know, never mind it’ and walk out the house right now and just... go lay somewhere where I don’t need to think about this. Or something.  
  
“I like you too.”  
My eyes flew up to meet his just as he slammed a hand to his mouth, his eyes blown open with the shock.  
“Oh”, I whispered, feeling blood rushing up to my cheeks. “Oh I... woah I...” how do you word. I could barely let out a sound because my heart was about to burst. “I hoped so but... wow.” Wow. What the fuck me. One would think I’d have something better to say than ‘wow’ at this situation but no. Not then. Like whether or not he wanted to do something about it.  
“So I was wondering”, I blurted out at the thought before I could stop myself. Alright. Lets get this over with, then. I already got this far so it can’t hurt to try my luck just a little more. I cleared the awkward lump away from my throat before quaking out: “D-do you want to go out with me or something?”  
The pain was back in Marco’s eyes as the words left my lips. So his reply didn’t surprise me.  
“I can’t”, he mumbled, lowering his eyes from mine. Well. Can’t say that I’m too surprised. I couldn’t even start to understand why he’d like me. So I sure as hell didn’t know why he’d want to date me with my little broken heart.  
  
There seemed to be a thousand things crossing Marco’s mind, some that he wanted to say but couldn’t, his mouth twitching a few times before he finally stammered out: “I- I’m a vampire, Jean.”  
So that’s the issue? Not that he doesn’t want a lame ass boyfriend like me?  
“So what?”  
_Shit._  
I shouldn’t have said that and I knew it, what with the way his gaze snapped up to meet mine in a violent speed.  
“I know that you are a vampire.” I hated the way my voice was a whisper and the grimace I knew to adorn my face. It’s not what I wanted to say at all. “And I know that I’m a dying boy with five years left in guess.”  
I shrugged to turn his attention away from the waver of my voice. Desperate act in desperate times. I shouldn’t have said that either, really. Not a great way nor time to address the issue of my lifetime expectation at all.  
“I...” was it too late to pull it back? Too late to fix it? What could I even say? My mouth was running miles ahead of my thoughts by then, continuing without much permission from me. “I’m tired of retreating form my battles Marco”, I heard myself saying. There was a smile on my face and I was at a loss of why. “I want to live. I want to live the best I can.”  
“Jean, what-”  
I quickly pressed my hand against his chest, atop his still beating heart. It shut him up. Thank god it shut him up. _I can’t let him ask about it._ Not now. “You like me”, I threw his words back at him, curling my fingers that touched him in hesitance. I needed to say something. I needed to sort this out.  
“I mean”, I breathed out. “If you want to be just a... a _friend_ -” wow that surely hurt “ - with benefits or something, that’s okay.” Actually, no it’s not okay but better than nothing I guess. “I just”,  what, want more?  
“...would prefer to have it all with all this... ugly feeling mess and h-holding your h-hand so please”, my voice was breaking. “ _Please, Marco._ Be honest with me.”  
It was a beg and he knew it.  I knew he knew it and I knew it hurt him as a new tear rolled down his cheek and he rose his shaking hands to cover his eyes.  
“I like you”, he choked out, his voice just as broken as mine. “I d-do l-l-l-like y-y-you.”  
  
Why?  
Why do we need to be so sad?  
This should be the happiest day of my life. This is not right at all. We should not... be in pain. The boy that I told my feelings to shouldn’t be crying in pain. He shouldn’t be so sad that he liked me. That I liked him.  
It made me angry.  
  
I stepped closer so that I could pull Marco against my chest, so that I could at least ease what little of his pain that I could. I needed him to stop crying. To stop breaking my heart  
“I don’t care that you are a vampire, Marco”, I breathed into his hair. “I... that’s probably so selfish of me to say?” Oh it was, it was.  “I care so fucking much that you are a vampire because that’s _you_.” That’s better. Because he is and that’s something that I can’t ignore. That the shaking man in my arms wasn’t a human, no matter how much he looked like one. No matter how much I wished that he was one because it’d make everything so much easier right now. But it doesn’t change _anything_. The words wouldn’t stop dropping from my lips. ”You are a vampire and I fell for _you_. All of you. Your stupid ass grin and rude ass comebacks, your freckles, your kindness, your retreating teeth a-and voice and just... you.”  
I think I’m just making this worse for _him_ now.  
“So I do care that you are a vampire and I can see that I hurt you.”  
“No”, he exclaimed, surprising me as his cold breath hit my chest. “No you didn’t I.... I just. I would just hurt you, Jean. And... I couldn’t live with that.”  
  
What a stupid, stupid _selfless_ vampire.  
“You know you, you might end up hurting me”, I told him. “But I’m sure it’d be worth the pain.” _Anytime_ , I added in my head, collecting what little composure I had left before continuing. “Maybe this is a terrible idea... but I would... really like to try us out, Marco. I want to take you out for a date a call you my boyfriend. I... I’m horrible, I know that. I’m so selfish... I know it’s worse for you because you-”  
  
The image of that dream, the one of me in my coffin was clear in my head. It might have been a dream but it was so true.  
I’d leave him behind.  
“You would have to be the one who... stays behind when I die.”  
“No”, he said. “Stop, Jean.”  
“Sorry”, I apologized, pressing my lips to his hair.  
  
Marco pulled his hands awkwardly from between us before wrapping them behind my back, pulling us chest to chest. His skin was cool but soft atop his well trained muscles. He was so much thicker than I was with my bony arms and showy ribs.  
“This is dumb”, he muttered and god if I agreed with him on that. “I wish we had met two years ago. When I was still human.”  
“Maybe that would have been easier”, I agreed, slowly lifting my hand to run it through his black locks. It wasn’t that simple though. Two years ago wasn’t a great time in my life. It wouldn’t have helped much, I guess. So I confessed the stinging truth: “But I was in pieces back then and so were you. I don’t think we would have been really good company to each other.”  A suicidal 22 year old with shitty home situation and an  18 year old kid devastated by his father’s passing. There’s not much good to be seen in that combination.  
“Yeah, I was too busy dying to think about anything else”, Marco confessed back with a laugh. I still didn’t like that way he’d laugh about his problems, squeezing him a bit tighter into my arms. I wanted to keep him safe.  
“I will... be selfish again”, I muttered. “But I’m so fucking happy that that guy turned you that night.”  
“Yeah”, Marco hummed in a reply. “I owe him a lot but I do wish he would just have knocked me out and carried me into a hospital or something. Turning me into an immortal being was a bit... dramatic, I’d say.”  
  
That was a really good notion. A vampire could all well just have prevented him from jumping instead of turning him.  
“... you have a point”, I told him. “But you are here because of him no matter. Tell him thanks from me if you are in contact.”  
“You are horrible”, he snorted. “Asking me to say thanks to my own murderer, that’s a lot of nerve there.”  
“You know what I mean.”  
“I know. Maybe I will thank him too.”  
“You haven’t?” I asked carefully because I knew. I already knew what it had to be about.  
“No”, Marco confirmed. “I am still pissed at him. I didn’t exactly want to stay alive and it’s still... a struggle to see the good sometimes even now. But I have to admit that I’m rather happy that I got to meet you.”  
“Just rather happy?” I asked, playing with a strand of the longer hair atop his head, mulling over his question. “Or actually happy?”  
“Happy”, he replied, making my heart leap in my chest. T-that’s nice.  
  
“Alright”, he then said, pulling a bit further away from me to look at my face. “Promise me something?”  
“I can’t promise anything before I know what I need to promise”, I replied cautiously, making him nod in return.  
“Fair enough. Please promise me that no matter you live your life to the fullest.”  
“I...  where’s this coming from?” That was such a confusing thing to say. “I hate to ask this again so soon but Marco, you aren’t -”  
“I’m not planning anything drastic, no”, he replied before I could even finish my sentence. “This is about you now.”  
“I don’t understand you, then.”  
“I want you to laugh a lot”, he said calmly. “I want you to smile and laugh without a care in the world even if at some point I can’t be there with you anymore. I want you to take everything out of your life and get  laughter lines, no matter what. Can you promise me that?”  
“I can’t.” I want to. But I can’t Marco. Not when I’m me. “I can’t promise to stay alive long enough to get wrinkled. But I can promise to live my life to the fullest.” Whether that means a year or twenty, who knows. I didn’t want to think about it. “That’s what I’m already trying to do, if you have been listening”, I said, referring to the conversation I had with him before sleeping. I at least hope that he had listened to what I said. “Is that good enough to you?”  
“I guess it’s the best I’m going to get”, he hummed. “Alright. Yes.”  
“Yes?” I questioned. Marco smiled.  
“As in yes. Lets try this out, _boyfriend_.”  
  
Alright, then.  
I pulled him into a kiss and another.  
“Boyfriend”, I whispered against his lips, the giddy realisation hitting me. “My boyfriend.”  
I was so happy and so incredibly sad.  
How long?  
How long could we have it?  
  
I blamed the tears in my eyes on the happiness when he asked, drying them off with my hand before leaning in to kiss him again.  
  
It’s okay.  
It’s going to be okay.  
Even if I die soon, he doesn’t need to worry about it.  
  
_I can always make sure that he won’t be there to see me go._


	23. Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I woke up to sunlight  
> for the first time in weeks  
> and do believe, m’ darling  
> there's magic  
> in my arms around you  
> and your breath on my fingertips.

It was warm.  Almost too much so I noted, feeling my shirt kissing my back with dampness that could only be sweat.  
“I’m safe, by the way. If you were worried.”  
 A hum in the emptiness, echoing from nothing. A whisper at the back of my neck. Turning around revealed that the speaker was that lady, her body wrapped in a blue suit, a crocheted bow tie of the same shade around her neck, resting against the pearly whiteness of her shirt.  That was something new and felt somewhat wrong. Why wasn’t she wearing one of her dresses? Somehow it felt like  I could finally see how tiny she really was with the way the suit drew the outlines of her body. She must have been wearing heels before because now on her flat shoes her head didn’t even reach my shoulder. It was confusing.  
“What do you mean?” I asked her, looking over to the freckled man standing by my side. He looked back at me just as confused, his eyes black. Too black. That’s not how they are supposed to look. Aren’t they brown?  
“Nothing really”, the woman chuckled and shook her head. Her hair was pinned up,  twisted over and over and over. There was a moon hanging from a silver chain behind her as she spun around, black black shadows dancing on the fabric of her suit, drawing out sharp shapes that I couldn’t catch before they were already gone.  
Everything was too dark now that I thought about it.  
The scenery was black.  
The ground was black.  
My _skin_ seemed almost black.  
But then it _wasn’t_.  
_Nothing_ was dark anymore.  
“You like this better?” the woman asked, her voice crashing with the waver of the tides.  
  
It was that rock in the ocean. The one where she killed us both, with silver knives she had skilfully thrown around, like it had been what she was born to do. But this time the water was gold and there were tears on her eyes as she gave us those same knives as before. The ones she had asked us to kill each other with, the ones we tried to kill her with. The ones she, in the end, killed us with.  
  
She took a step from where she stood between us and leaned her head against the chest of that freckled man, her shoulders slumped and her knees shaking. For a moment I thought she would collapse right there and then, but she didn’t. Just stood there, collecting her breath for a moment before she could speak.  
“Could you please kill him?” she asked him, pointing her shaking finger towards me as her voice shattered like glass. “ _Please_ , kill him, _I’m begging you._ ”  
“I can’t”, the man whispered, shaking his head. Black black drops falling down from his raven hair, hitting the rock under us hard and bouncing away, small round pebbles that had been hidden between the strands. The lady stepped away from him, her eyes following the pebbles closely. “You know that I can’t”, he continued, carefully handing the knife back to the woman’s open palm. It fell through her fingers in a rain of silver, hitting the rock under us, its splashes dyeing her black shoes with droplets of light.  
“Why?” she asked, her shoulders dropping even more. The waves seemed to hit the rock harder now. “Tell me why.”  
“Because I love him”, the man said without hesitance, a small sad smile on his pale lips. “I love him a lot.”  
“You shouldn’t”, she whispered, lifting her gaze to me. “You don’t know what he is.”  
“He’s Jean”, the freckled man replied. That sparked a fire inside of me.  
  
I’m Jean. My name is Jean.  Marco. _Marco_. His name is Marco. _It’s Marco_. Marco loves me.  
  
“Isn’t that all that I need to know?” Marco continued, smiling sheepishly at the woman. She didn’t seem too happy with his reply.  
“I think that your way of thinking is naive, romantic and foolish”, she slowly replied. “What about you?” she then asked, looking at me and nodding her head towards Marco. “Won’t you kill him?”  
“How am I supposed to kill a vampire?” I asked, looking at the knife in my hand. It was beautifully carved, a run of leafs and vines curling round and round on the handhold. Sparkling clean, with no proof of contact with my - or maybe Marco’s - blood left on it from the last time.  
“You can do anything here”, she replied, stepping closer to me.  Here? Where is ‘here’? “Wouldn’t you want to kill him? To kill Marco?”  
“No”, I replied, taking a step backwards, further from her. “I don’t want to kill him.”  
“And why is that?” she purred, still coming closer. “You love him, too?”  
“What does it matter?” I asked, following her with my gaze. I couldn’t back off anymore. The splatters of the gold water were already drenching the back of my shins where I stood now, right by the edge of the rock. The water was humming, words I couldn’t make out but it was singing, it was singing with voices I had never heard before and it smelled rusty like blood.  
“It’s a shame”, the woman replied, stopping where she stood as she noticed how close to the edge I was. She didn’t want to push me to the water, it seemed, as she cocked her head to the side and smiled a little sadly. “You should probably just say it aloud now”, she breathed out, small white puffs of air escaping her lips. But it wasn’t cold so I didn’t know why. “You will die soon, won’t you?” she continued, and I knew she didn’t need my reply. She knew. She knew it too as she pulled the smile off her face, settling for a serious look before she asked another thing.  
“Wouldn’t it be nice to take him with you?”  
  
_No._  
  
The freckled man stepped up, from where he had been and marched between me and her, rising his head to stare at the lady with all his might.  
Black pebbles falling  
falling  
            _falling_  
  
                                         to the ground.  
“He’s very much alive”, he told her in hoarse voice.  So hoarse that it would have dulled glass shards dim and edgeless. Like the roughest sandpaper you’d ever feel.  
“Oh”, the lady answered, a small, knowing smile growing to her lips as she tilted her head. A strand of that sunshine hair fell to her shoulder, her lips parting as she huffed air through them in voiceless laughter. “So it’s like that!” she then exclaimed, not able to restrain her chuckles anymore. “So that’s it! I can’t believe it’s this simple! How stupid is that!”  
“What is ‘it’?” I carefully asked, looking at how the black clothes beat up against Marco’s skin on the wind that came out of nowhere, like everything else here. Forming squares, triangles, more squares on their flaring form.  
“He hasn’t accepted that you are going to die”, the woman explained, looking over to me. “He’s fighting so hard pretending that he doesn’t know.”  
“Shut up”, Marco breathed out, folding his fists, his eyes aflame. “He’s not dying.”  
“See?” she asked, slipping past him in a blink of an eye, standing next to me on the edge now. Her eyelashes were long and blonde as she studied my face. “You know that you are dying. You have accepted it, haven’t you?”  
“Yes”, I replied, shrugging my naked arms. “I know that I’m dying. I don’t know why I should resist?”  
“ _NO!_ ” Marco shouted, slamming his hands to his ears. “You are not! You are not! You are not you are not you are not-”  
a never ending mantra, it seemed  
            she muted him with a flick of her fingers but his mouth kept it on  
                                                                    _you are not you are not you aren ot youare not yourarenot_  
_**yourarenot**_  
  
“I feel sorry for him”, she sighed, looking back at me. “He has lost too much already.”  
“Aren’t you being unnecessarily cruel to him?” I asked her, cocking my head this time. She bit her lip as she looked at the show he was putting on, still voicelessly chanting on with his shaking body.  
“I don’t know”, she admitted. “I am trying to help him to be honest. He’s my... yeah.”  
“He’s your what?” I asked, confused. She seemed familiar, somehow. But at the same time she didn’t.  
“I told you once already”, she chuckled softly. “If you can’t remember, then that’s a shame.”  
She turned to face me, pushing her small hands against my chest. Cold. So so cold.  
“How’s your heart”, she asked, pressing her palm on top of it. “Still beating, I see.”  
“It’s the same”, I replied as she released her hand, leaving my head spinning uncomfortably, blocks of colour running past my eyes. She nodded, looking back over to the freckled man. **Marco**. I tried to hang onto the name on my mind, but it was hard when it seemed that he was slowly falling down to the ground as pebbles himself.  
“He never takes care of himself”, the woman sighed, tugging at the loose strand of her hair. “He’s ready to push and push till his bones snap in two, lie till his teeth rot and hurt himself till he bleeds dry if it’s just going to help someone else. But for his own sake he can’t hurt himself or others. He’s too kind to do it.”  
“Why is he the death then? If he’s so kind”, I asked.  She shrugged softly after a while, breathing those small puffs of white air through her teeth.  
“Even the kindest of kind kill. Sometimes they can’t stand being kind anymore. Sometimes they just drown us in that kindness itself without meaning it. But Marco’s not really that kind - he just doesn’t know what else to do or how else to act. He wants to be selfish - he wants to, but he’s too afraid to do so. Even though all he really wants is to feel safe and loved. To be able to- oh, he’s falling apart.”  
  
There was a small sound of a stone hitting water. I looked over to see the next round pebble falling over the edge.  
Plip.  
   Plip.  
Plip plip plip.  
He wasn’t whole anymore. His face half ripped away and there was no sign of his right hand where it should have been. His shoulder, his side, his ribcage, they were all slowly dropping down of his body in a rain of small black stones.  
“Shouldn’t we help him?” I asked, looking at the rain bouncing up and down as it hit the ground.  
“I don’t know if we can”, the woman confessed.  
“It’s worth a try”, I told her and stepped forward.  
  
It felt weird to close my arms around a breaking body that fell apart on black hard pebbles.  
Warm. Cold. Warm. Cold. Cold. Cold. Stones hitting me repeatedly. Bruising me. So so cold but leaving behind the outbreak of warmth as my blood rushed to the bruises.  
“Marco”, I whispered. “Marco it’s okay. I’m here.”  
No answer.  
“Marco, please, listen to me. It’s going to be okay, I’m here.”  
Pebble  
pebble  
pebblepebblepebblepebblepebble.  
I pulled back to see him and the hole was already hollowing him down to his hipbone.  
“MARCO!” I shouted , tearing at the hand he was still holding up to his ear. The only hand. Only ear. Only side. But he was hard as stone and fragile as shattered glass, his skin coming apart under my fingers but his form unmovable. My skin was breaking at his shards and my blood started dyeing his hand red as I opened my mouth to desperate cry of his name.  
_“MARCO!”_  
  
A soft, delicate hand separated us.  
“It’s no use, Jean”, she whispered, standing between us. “He’s not ready talk about it yet.”  
“What am I supposed to do then?!” I cried out, trying to claw past her to help him, to touch him, to shake him.  But she was too strong, way way way too strong. There was my blood on her shirt but she didn’t seem to notice as I shouted at her. “I can’t just let him fall apart!”  
“Sometimes we need to fall apart in order to fix ourselves”, she breathed out, pushing me further away. “So let him. You can’t rebuild him. He needs to do it himself.”  
I fell down, my posture shaken by her push, unable not to stare as what was left of Marco collapsed down in one rain off black stones.  
“No”, I whispered, looking up to the woman who sighed silently. “No he... he couldn’t-”  
“He’s not dead”, she reassured me, walking up to me and yanking the knife I had pocketed without realising to herself. This one, too, fell through her fingers as a rain of silver. She sighed once more,  swiping the silver mess off her fingers to the fabric of her trousers, smudging the colour. She tugged at her hair, opening it up, the curled strands bouncing down.  
“I’m sorry Jean”, she muttered as she pulled off the last hairpins of what seemed to be hundreds. “But sometimes... there are things that hurt too much to show. Things that we might want to talk about but can’t. It’s cliché but we really need to be ready to do so or it might hurt us more. Even us vampires. Even we need time.”  
“You are a vampire?” I asked, the ‘us’ catching my attention.  
“I already told that to you once, too”, she smiled and carefully wiped a tear from my cheek.  I don’t know when I started crying. Maybe I had already been for a while. Since he collapsed. I wouldn’t know.  
“But I had to make you forget it.”  
“What do you mean?” I asked, carefully taking her fingers into mine. Dyeing her whiteness.  
“I will tell you one day, maybe”, she told me, lifting her free hand carefully to my cheek. “When I’m ready, I’ll tell you. Or maybe earlier, if you come to me like you came that one time.”  
“I don’t understand”, I breathed out, studying her sad smile. One time? When? Came to her?  
“We will meet soon, Jean Kirstein”, she whispered, leaning forward to kiss my forehead. “We will see each other in blue suits.”  
_“Blue suits?”_  
The question hang on the empty air.  
There was no one there with me anymore.  
Just empty rock in the middle of golden ocean and the lone wind and black pebbles that were left of Marco.  
  
_Mint green this time_ , I thought when I looked up to the clouds gliding by. That time, when they were avocado green he had tasted like all the things winter but somehow, this time, it was much colder out here alone than it had been together with him in the sky.  
I knelt down and scooped up a  handful of those black pebbles, kissing them softly.  
One day.  
One day we could kiss under the mint green clouds by the golden horizon and you’d be okay and you wouldn’t have to cry.    
  
And maybe that time you’ll taste like summer, marshmallows over half dead camp fires, like the wild flowers dotting the scene, the scent of fresh and burning pine trees surrounding us as the midnight sun gently kisses your skin as you kiss mine.  
Maybe.  
  
Maybe I won’t kill him and he won’t kill me.  
Maybe I can save him and he can save me.  
  
_Worth the try, isn’t it?_

***

I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck as I awoke.  
And there was his voice, his voice speaking in hushed murmurs to my hair:  
“I woke up to sunlight  
for the first time in weeks  
and do believe, m’ darling  
there's magic  
in my arms around you  
and your breath on my fingertips.”  
  
I had to question my ears for a moment because most certainly Jean couldn’t just have recited poetry to me. But it felt true. Which was... _woah_. I smiled, knowing that I couldn’t let go the chance to tease him.  
“I didn’t know that you are a poet”, I whispered softly, blowing air to his fingers. The hands around me stirred.  
“You heard that.” He knew that I did. Yet he asked. I guess that’s how he was.  
“I heard that”, I chuckled, wondering what kind of face Jean was making. Embarrassed? I decided to find out.  
“Well”, he sighed as I turned round in his hands, cocking an eyebrow at his indeed embarrassed smirk. “Any hope left that I could look cool and mysterious in your eyes anymore?”  
“Zero”,  I snorted and learned to peck his nose.  “Okay, that was cruel of me”, I mused, looking up at him with my best puppy eyes and feigned an apologetic smile. “Let me correct myself - your changes to look ‘cool and mysterious’ have dropped to negative six.”  
“Rude”,  he gasped theatrically. “Why tho?”  
“You have the wildest bedhead ever”, I hummed and leaned to comb my hand through his hair. Jesus. Talk about butterflies.  
But I had the right to do it now. Me, _the boyfriend_.  That’s.... cool. Weird. Weird but cool.  
_(Because I can regret this when the moment is gone, when he’s not so pretty with his hands around me, when there aren’t lines of sleepiness pressed under his eyes and when he’s not smiling at me like this.)_  
  
“But seriously? Poetry?” I questioned, smiling softly to him, reassuring. _I’m not making fun of you. I’m just interested_. “That was a surprise.”  
“Grandmother was all about poems”, Jean shrugged. “It rubbed on when I lived with her.”  
“Oh, yes, the house next to that garden”, I noted. “When you were young.”  
“Yeah, that one,” Jean agreed with a nod.  
“Why did you live there?”  
“Mum worked abroad for few years and Dad had such a busy schedule at the hospital that he couldn’t have taken good care of a sick son like me alone”, Jean shrugged. “So mum’s mother took us under her wing and there we lived, in that old house. She was a good woman.”  
“She sounds like she was.”  
“She left me all her poetry books when she passed away”, Jean sighed. “She would never stop asking me if I’m keeping up with poetry when I was younger. Even when I was 12 and tried to be cool.”  
“ _Some_ things haven’t changed after that, then.”  
“Hey now, I’m actually cool nowadays!”  
_“Negative sev-”_  
“Well, cooler than I was when I was twelve”, Jean laughed. “I don’t mind poetry these days.”  
“Good”, I whispered, leaning closer, chuckling. “I want you to recite that to me again”, I said and pressed my lips to his, capturing his surprised breath with them and keeping him close for a while.  
“It’s pretty hard to recite poetry if you are kissing me”, he commented as our lips separated, his eyebrows set up high as he searched my face.  
“Just recite it without a sound then”, I told him, pulling his lips back against mine.  
  
And he did,  
wrote poetry with his nibbling kisses and breathy laughters,  
his teeth the pen and my bruising skin his ink.  
  
I had never known of  a poem as beautiful in my life.

***

At some point we got out of bed. At least somewhat. He ate the bread and cheese I had bought him, silent on my bed going through the choices of instant coffee as I returned with the cup of water I had boiled downstairs and gave it to him.  
“Thanks”, he hummed and took the cup from me. “You okay without anything?”  
“What would I have, Jean?” I laughed and settled down to sit next to the bed, leaning my back against it. “Don’t really eat as often as humans.”  
“I don’t know”, he admitted with a shrug, looking at me. I could tell his eyes were drawn to the soreness on my neck and I couldn’t prevent myself from gulping. _God, he had been hot with his teeth on my skin-_  
“Those blood pills?”  
“Eh?”  
“The pills you eat?” Jean questioned. “The ones that made me sure that you are vampire?”  
“Oh”, I replied. “Those. I don’t use them if I don’t have to.”  
“What are they for?” he asked, lowering himself to sit on the floor a bit away from me.  “If they are not for hunger?”  
“Well, they can be used for that too”, I hummed. “But it’s mostly just a way to blend in better within humans and to help us when... accidents happen.”  
“Blending in? Accidents?” Jean urged, pushing the topic. I didn’t mind.  
“For vampires like me who are bad at handling food the pills are a great help with blending in”, I replied. “If I eat them before the meal I won’t... faint or get painful stomach cramps. Some foods are still terribly uncomfortable for us thought, like caffeine is for me. I can also take them after the lunch and hope for best.”  
“So it works a little bit like antihistamine and lactic acid bacteria at once?”  
“Plus diet pill”, I added. “Since it can also be used as a help to keep our hunger tolerable when we are in situations where we are unable to feed.”  
“Sounds harsh”, Jean muttered, finally mixing in one sachet of coffee to the water. “Being vampire, that’s it.”  
“You have no idea”, I sighed, letting my head fall down to the cushion. As if staring at the ceiling had ever turned things better before.  
“Do you want to talk about it?”  
“What’s ‘it’, Jean?”  
“You being a vampire. Or us.”  
  
I turned to meet his awaiting eyes.  
“What’s this about?” I asked. “Do you want to break up?” Jean flinched at my words.  
“I didn’t mean that at all.”  
“Oh, that’s good. What then?”  
“The thing we didn’t really talk about last night.”  
“There were a lot that we didn’t talk about.” Like why I cried, why I stopped the make out session, about how he might or might not have noticed how turned on I was -  
“I meant me dying”, Jean sighed and rose the cup to his lips. “Because it’s happening.”  
“Do we need to talk about it now?” I asked him. “We haven’t been together for a full day.”  
“But for how long can you say it like that?” Jean asked, his eyes set heavy.  
“How long can I say it like what?” I replied, confused. Jean’s eyes stayed on his coffee.  
“For how long can you even talk of days?” he asked, his hand clenching around the cup. It was yellow. Who ever said that yellow was a happy colour was wrong. ”How long is it going to take until a year is like a day for you?”  
“Jean?” I asked carefully, sensing the distress in his voice. He still wouldn’t look at me as he continued.  
“ _I’m_ going to die Marco. And after a while the time we had is going to be like a blink of an eye to _you_.”  
“Jean, it’s not-”  _true_ , I wanted to say. _But what if it is?_  
“You will turn five hundred one day. Eight hundred, thousand years old. Then, even if we were to spend rest of my life together, it’d feel like a blink of an eye to you.”  
  
I stayed silent, listening to the heaviness of the silence as he stopped. What could I have said? That he was wrong? But I didn’t know if he was. I had no way of knowing that.  
“So yeah”, Jean sighed, shaking his head slightly, unclenching his grip on the mug a little. “Sorry, I must sound so depressing. But I don’t want the time I’m with you to be worthless. I feel like we are going to be running against time. Always. On and on. So it’d be for the best if we made a hassle and made the best use of that time.”  
“You have thought about this a lot, have you?” I asked, carefully reaching to place my hand on his shoulder.  He stayed stiff, not reacting to my touch.  
“All the time since I was a child”, he admitted, carefully looking at me. “It’s a life attitude”, he then added, dragging a smile to his lips. It looked so fake and it tore at my heart. “Had to learn early that life doesn’t last forever.”  
“Do... you want to talk about that?” I asked, ignoring the clench on my chest. Time to be a good friend. Boyfriend, whatever. What’s wrong Jean? Why did you have to learn it early? Because of your heart or your father? Because of something else?  
“Not really”, he breathed out. “Not now. Sorry I think I killed whatever-” his hand rose up, his fingers rising up just to barely touch my neck, stealing the little breath I had, “- mood we had going on.”  
“It’s alright”, I answered, trying to keep the breathlessness out of my voice as my body sparkled with interest at his slight touch. “We should go on a date.”  
“Hah?” Jean looked confused now, his brows jumping up. “A date?”  
“Isn’t that what people who are dating usually do? Go out on dates?” I asked, tilting my head at him.  
“I-I guess so?” he agreed,  nodding hesitantly. I smiled.  
“See, we are already together. Better shape up because we have never done anything date-like”, I smirked and leaned to softly bump his shoulder with my fist. “We are supposed to enjoy this time, right?”  
“But it’s sunny outside-”  
“I’m fine with sun”, I laughed. “I just burn.”  
“How is that _fine_!” Jean cried out but I silenced him with a finger to his lips before he could continue.  
“It’s because I have always tended to burn. All the way since I was human. That’s the curse of all these freckles.”  
“What, really?” Jean breathed out, completely dumbfounded. I nodded.  
“Really. So as long as I wear sunscreen I will be fine.”  
“But... I thought it was a vampire thing. Burning in sunlight, you know?”  
“Well, I know of an Australian beach guard vampire. So I wouldn’t say so.”  
“You are fucking with me”, Jean said and stared at me. Well, sadly we are both clothed-  
“You gotta be”, he continued, his stare pleading.  
“I’m not?” I replied with a laugh. He was cute, alright. “I mean, Eszter is a tattoo artist, her girlfriend is a mute nurse taking care of Alzheimer patients, Erwin is a war veteran -”  
“Wait”, Jean stopped me. “Mr Smith is a vampire?”  
  
Well. _Shit_.  
  
“Yeah”, I carefully replied. “I... shouldn’t have said that.”  
“Is Mr Smith the dude that saved you then?” Jean asked, interest sparking in his eyes as he leaned closer. I had trouble concentrating on his words and not his body.  
“No, not at all”, I  shook my head. “I only met him a few months after being turned.”  
“What about Hanji?”  
“What about them?”  
“Are they a vampire too? Or just someone who studies you guys?”  
“Why... why are you even so sure that they study vampires?” I enquired, leaning away from him. Jean shrugged.  
“They said something like ‘please tell me that he’s like to you’ when we met.”  
“Oh. Yeah, they did do that”, I sighed. “Yes to both. They are a vampire that studies vampires.”  
“That’s... weird”, Jean stated. “Why?”  
“They have been a vampire for around twenty years now, I think”, I said, thinking over the details. “They said they want to know how the whole turning into a vampire and the following healing process works. So they are really interested in new vampires like me.”  
“Healing process?” Jean questioned me, nodding at my explanations.  
“It takes a toll on your body to be turned into a vampire”, I explained. “Some lucky people get over it easily. I am not one of them, before you ask - I think I have gotten all the bad sides. But yeah, it’s usually new vampires that have trouble eating normal food, sunlight, loud noises or scents. No one is very good with food tho. I mean some can eat a meal every now and then to fool people but it still, according to them, is really uncomfortable in the end.”  
“But all these symptoms ease with time?”  
“Exactly”, I smiled. “In around ten years one will be a fully healed vampire. Or so they think.”  
“Ten years?” Jean asked. “That’s long.”  
“Long versus eternity? Not really.”  
“True”, Jean mused. “How about you? What has gotten easier on two years?”  
“Err”, I started. “I can stand loud noises no problem now, I don’t have problems with strong scents, I can eat a little as you figured out, sunlight is getting better. The food is the biggest problem I have left, really.”  
“Hmm, cool”, Jean hummed. “Okay. Date.”  
“Date”, I agreed. “What shall we do?”  
  
We stared at each other, waiting for the other to go first. Neither did.  
“Okay”, I finally breathed out. “I have to admit that I have never been on real date.”  
“I’m not much better off”, Jean replied with a shrug. “I once went to have coffee with a girl. Once.”  
“The goddess girl?” I asked, thinking back to what he had talked of before. Jean snorted.  
“No no, a classmate from middle school. She was nice but it was incredibly awkward”, he grimaced. “She was kind of childhood friend, really. We just couldn’t take it seriously. We felt like we were playing adults and decided to never ever think about dating again.”  
“Ooh, I see”,  I replied. “So lets not go for a coffee.”  
“Oh, why, wouldn’t it be fun?” Jean smirked, cocking his eyebrow at me. I rolled my eyes in a reply.  
“I do wonder why. It’s not like I can’t stand caffeine”, I started mockingly. “But honestly it’s more about how I don’t want _our_ date to be repetition of your failed first one”, I added, enjoying the blush that crept to Jean’s cheeks as I winked at him.  
“I see”, he replied awkwardly. “Uh. Any other ideas?”  
“We could go to eat something? Like pizza?” I offered. Jean rose his brows at that.  
“Shouldn’t we do something that both of us can enjoy? You can’t really eat pizza, can you?”  
“Well, but you’d like it, wouldn’t you?” I asked. Jean sighed.  
“Our date, Marco. Not ‘Jean’s date’. I have a better idea.”  
“Tell me then”, I smiled and leaned forward. Whatever I expected him to say, it wasn’t what he actually did as a beaming smile crossed his face.  
“Let's go climb trees!” he said.  
  
I blinked dumbly. I waited for a ‘just kidding’ for a few seconds but there wasn’t one, just Jean’s eager eyes staring back to mine.  
“Jean, your doctor told you not do any heavy ex-”  
“Let me correct”, Jean cut me. “Lets go climb a tree.”  
“I don’t know if that’s much better”, I hesitated, trying to give him a stern look. But it was hard when he was beaming at me in a way that I had never seen him do before.  
“It is”, he assured. “Do you have a car?”  
“No, I don’t have a license”, I answered. Okay, what exactly are you planning Jean?  
“Shit, I could have driven us there.”  
“You have driving license?”  
“Yeah, got it when I was 18 so I could drive mum and me around when needed. But I don’t have my own car so eh.”  
“We can probably borrow Annie’s”, I suggested.  
“Walking sounds suddenly a lot better”, Jean sighed, clearly not too happy with the idea.  
“Nope, no walking for you Mr. Just out of the Hospital. I’ll ask Annie.”  
“Lame”, Jean breathed out. “But alright, alright. I don’t want to get killed tho.”  
“She won’t kill you as long as you don’t crash her car.”  
“Indeed”, Jean muttered.  
“Do I have to ask how good of a driver you are or...”  
“You can trust me behind the wheel”, Jean reassured. “It’s just that I’m afraid I’ll have the shittiest of luck or some shit and someone else crashes into us and Annie’s gonna kill us.”  
“Are you, perhaps, afraid of..?”  
“Anyone on their right mind would be!” Jean exclaimed, throwing his hands up. “She beat up a bunch of guys once when we were out as a group. By herself! She’s crazy.”  
“She’s not crazy, really. Just talented with martial arts”, I laughed. “She taught me a lot of what I know, so you can partly thank her for me being able to save you.”  
“Uugh I don’t want to thank her”, Jean whined.  
“You will have to thank her if she lets us borrow the car.”  
“That’s completely different.”  
“You are weird.”  
“So are you, Marco.”  
  
After a little more harmless bickering I made my way downstairs and asked the unimpressed Annie to lend the car. She cocked her eyebrow and gave me the keys.  
“Know that you are dead if something happens to my worm”, she simply stated before pulling the door closed at my face. Mission accomplished.  
  
As I returned, Jean had washed his face and borrowed more of my deodorant - I could smell it in the air - and he had pulled on his jeans.  
“How did it go?” he asked, combing his hand through his hair. I don’t know wether he was trying to mess it more or tame it but it didn’t really have that much effect.  
“She promised to borrow worm to us.”  
“Worm?”  
“She calls the car that. Don’t ask why, I don’t know.”  
“I... see”, Jean replied. “Can I borrow a shirt again or should I just wear the one I wore yesterday?”  
“Oh, sorry, I will get you a shirt”,  I smiled, throwing the keys to him. “Take care of those.”  
“Will do”, he replied, barely catching them. “But please don’t throw stuff at me, I will drop them half of the time. Or more.”  
“Noted. I will throw everything expensive and fragile in your direction from now on.”  
“HEY!”  
“Just kidding, just kidding”, I laughed, pulling open my closet and rummaging through the shirts before finding one that might possibly fit Jean. I threw it to him and no kidding, he failed to catch it.  
“James Blunt? Seriously?” he asked when he picked up the shirt, eyeing it suspiciously.  
“Yeah, he’s a good singer.”  
“Only song I know by him is that goodbye lover one.”  
“It’s ‘Goodbye My Lover’ and Jean, if that’s all you know you are seriously missing out”, I smiled. “I will have to educate you on the issue.”  
“Whatever”, Jean muttered, pulling the shirt over his head. “Sunscreen yourself and we are ready to go, right?”  
“Already did”, I replied. “Lemme just grab a CD to listen to and we can go. Should you take something to drink with you? It’s pretty hot outside.”  
“We can stop by a gas station or some kiosk”, Jean proposed. “There should be something on the way.”  
“Okay, don’t get me wrong”, I started, pocketing my wallet and taking the CD from my shelf. “But you sound awfully specific about this. Do you actually have some exact tree you are going to take us to?”  
“Yep”, Jean replied, nodding towards the door. “Of course I do.”  
“Alright”, I replied, following his lead to the staircase. “Should I know what you are talking about?”  
“No. You will see when we get there”, Jean simply shrugged, stopping to pull on his shoes after the first flight of stairs. “Where does Annie park her car?”  
“At the back, come”, I motioned, opening the balcony door. Jean stared at me dumbfounded.  
“We are going this way”, I added. “Stairs to the back go from here.”  
“Oh”, Jean replied. “Anything else weird about this house that I should know of besides indoors windows and stairs from the balcony?”  
“A lot”, I smirked, letting him past me to the balcony before pulling the doors closed after me. They were rather stiff. I should remember to take care of the hinges sometimes soon. “But you have time to figure it all out.”  
“Alright”, Jean mused, arriving at the corner of the house. “Okay, these are some ugly stairs.”  
“Agreed, but no can do”, I sighed as I followed him down the uneven stone steps. “To the left.”  
“Okay”, Jean hummed. “The green car?”  
“Yep.”  
  
Jean pulled out the keys and walked to the small Peugeot, unlocking it and opening the door.  
“Okay, Annie really is short but wow”, he breathed out before leaning down and adjusting the seat before even sitting in. When he was happy with it  he sat down, looking up to me with his hand on the door. “Shouldn’t you get in?”  
“Oh, the door's lock is broken”, I explained. “You have to let me in from the inside.”  
“Ah”, Jean simply said, pulling his own door closed before leaning over to crack mine open. I slipped in, giving him a small thanks and a smile. Jean was looking at the dashboard, apparently checking over things before humming and starting the engine.  
“You wanted to put on some music?”  
“Ah, yes”, I smiled and opened the CD case. “Your James Blunt education shall start now.”  
“Uh oh”, Jean smiled. “Does it have Goodbye My Lover on it?”  
“Sorry, no”, I shook my head. “It’s a newer album.”  
“Well, then I will know zero songs. You get to sing along all by yourself”, he smirked. “You all set up?”  
“Yep.”  
“Good”, Jean hummed and released the hand brake. “I hope that I remember how the one-way streets work in this part of Trost or I’m in for a fun trip round and round the centre.”  
“I’d help but I don’t really pay mind to that”, I apologized. “All I can tell you is that you need to turn left when you exit the parking area.”  
“It’s okay, people who don’t drive seldom pay mind to this stuff”, Jean muttered. I nodded, finally setting the CD into the car radio and pressing play as Jean pulled out the parking area.  
  
He stayed silent for maybe half a minute, figuring out his surroundings on the first crossing.  
“He hasn’t gotten any more cheery, it seems”, he then said, nodding towards the radio. “Still singing those depressing songs.”  
“They aren’t depressing. A little sad sometimes.”  
“You have a different definition of ‘a little’. Okay, shit, is the bridge Shout-East from here or...?”  
“Errr”, I dragged out and looked around. “Yeah, it should be.”  
“Good, then I have an idea how to get out of here”, Jean said, clicking on the turn signal. “I hope so, at least.”  
“You are not very familiar with Western Trost, are you?” I asked him, leaning back on my seat and looking at him from the corner of my eyes. Jean nodded, his eyes drawn to the street.  
“I’m originally from the Northern East parts as you might know”, he replied. “So I was born and bred on the opposite side of the bridge. Tiny area, outskirts... never really hung much at the centre before dad died and we moved here with mum.”  
“I would imagine you don’t really have a reason to come to the uglier seaside when the actual beach is much closer to you.”  
“Well, I don’t really like beaches”, Jean admitted. “I do like swimming but... yeah.”  
“Why?” I asked. “What’s wrong with beaches?”  
“Humans”, Jean sighed and shrugged a little. “Also everyone will look at you funny if you try to keep your shirt on when you swim and if I take it off... well, people stare. I don’t like that.”  
“Oh”, I replied. “I see.”  
“Same with swimming halls, of course”, he chuckled. “That’s why I only go to either of those early in the mornings when old grannies are my only company. They are used to me already.”  
“Popular with the ladies, I see.” Jean just laughed heartily as a reply and we settled into a silence, me listening to the music and Jean probably just concentrating on the streets.  
  
After a while he managed to navigate himself to the street leading to the bridge, breathing out a silent ‘finally’. He drove forward a few minutes before pulling into the small gas station, excusing himself to buy something to drink as he said. I sat waiting in the car, looking after him. Good arse. I thanked whoever it was who decided that skinny jeans were a thing because damn, they fit him well.  I was apparently losing whatever shame I had left from before Jean was my boyfriend. I smirked at the thought.  
_“I meant me dying. Because it’s happening.”_  
No. Wrong moment. Not now. Time to be happy. But I couldn’t prevent the clench in my chest when I saw Jean getting back to the car, a wide smile on his features.  
_“For how long can you even talk of days?”_  
“Sorry it took a while”, Jean said as he opened the door. “There was a chatty customer before me in the line.”  
“It’s alright”, I smiled. “What did you get?”  
“Seven Up. Are you okay?”  
“Yes, why?”  
“You look a little off”, Jean murmured and leaned to press his hand to my forehead.  
“Jean, I am vampire. I don’t get fever.”  
“I was checking you for sweat”, he muttered, pulling his hand away. “Since that’s the only bodily reaction I have seen happening with you being sick. Apart from fainting, naturally.”  
“I’m okay, I promise”, I reassured him, silencing the voice in the back of my mind.  
_How many years?_  
_How many years until I look like complete kid next to him?_  
“Alright. Just say if you feel faint before it’s too late because I can’t carry you.”  
“What, am I that heavy?”, I mocked him. Jean sighed.  
“Probably not, but I think you still count as ‘heavy exercise’.”  
_How long will your heart last?_  
“Could be.”  
“Mm”, Jean muttered, restarting the engine and pulling off the parking space and turning towards the bridge.  
“Are we going to the other side?”  
“Yeah”, Jean replied. “Where are you from? In Trost, I mean.”  
“This side, from the Southern end thought. Why?”  
“Wondering how you came to walk past my old home, that’s why”, Jean shrugged. “Since I never saw you around and you definitely didn’t live there.”  
“I had a dog”, I replied. “I used to walk her a lot around there because it was quieter.”  
  
Jean turned to look at me for a second, surprise clear on his features.  
“You had a dog?” he asked as his eyes landed back to the road. “I never knew.”  
“I never told, I guess”, I smiled. “She’s already dead thought.”  
“I’m sorry to hear”, Jean replied. “Would you tell me about her?”  
“Why do you wanna know?”  
“Because she was your dog”, Jean replied. “And I’m pretty sure you loved her tons.”  
“I did”, I sighed. “Okay. What do you want to know?”  
“I don’t know. What was her name? What kind of dog was she? Was she playful, her favourite snack, what ever you can come up with. Could she catch her tail, that’s an important question.”  
“Okay, uh. Her name was Korppi - she was black, as you can probably imagine. She was a Finnish Lapphund, rather playful and her favourite snack was fresh cucumbers.”  
“Fresh cucumbers?” Jean asked, giving me a quick look. “She sounds like she got some personality.”  
“She was a little weird with food”, I hummed. “She liked meat, of course, but nothing got her more exited than when someone started cutting cucumber because she knew she’d get the end for herself.”  
“That sounds cute”, Jean smiled. “What about the tail catching?”  
“She could do it”, I smiled. “She had a really long tail, too long probably. So it was rather easy for her.”  
“Many dogs would be jealous of her, then. Tell me more - was she yours or your family’s?”  
“Mine. I bought her when I was 16. As my birthday present.”  
“She... didn’t live too long then, did she”, Jean carefully asked, quickly making the calculations in his head.  
“No”, I shook my head. “She died a little before I was turned. She was five.”  
“What happened?”  
“Heart failure.”  
Jean looked a little thrown off by that, glancing at me again.  
“Shit, I’m sorry to hear.”  
“It’s alright. You couldn’t know.”  
“Uh... yeah, I guess”, he smiled awkwardly. “She liked long walks then?”  
“Yes. She was really bad at only walking though - you asked if she was playful? If we just walked forwards without any action she’d start poking my leg with her muzzle until I’d play with her or train her. She thought that only walking was never worth it.”  
“Sounds lovely”, Jean snorted. “Could you keep her off the leash?”  
“Yeah, she was a bit of daddy’s girl”, I laughed. “She wasn’t the bravest dog out there, a bit shy really. She’d always follow me, leash or not.”  
“You must have trained her well, then.”  
“Well, everyone who owns dogs knows that you have to make your mistakes with your first one”, I sighed. “But I think I managed quite well in the end.”  
“Did you have any hobbies with her?” Jean questioned, turning to the bridge. My eyes wandered to the maintenance ladder I knew to be there.  
“Marco?”  
“Oh, sorry, uh”, I hurried to reply, sensing the worry in his voice. “We didn’t do anything seriously. Just trained for fun, that’s it.”  
“I see”, Jean hummed, clearly relaxing as we got off the bridge. “Okay, gimme a sec I have to think of the way.”  
  
I didn’t ask where he was taking us as he slowed down before a small road to the left and turned to it.  Nor did I ask why we were taking a smaller street after one another.  
“Do you like dogs Jean?” I asked him after a while.  
“I do”, he admitted. “Grandma had this old mutt when I lived there. I don’t know if he ever had any other name because grandma would always call him ‘puppy’.”  
“Interesting”, I smiled. “Do you have any idea what kind breeds he had in him?”  
“Probably a few different hunting dogs is all that I know”, Jean shrugged. “Grandma didn’t know either. His mother was a mutt, too. He wasn’t exactly from a planned litter.”  
“Well, it doesn’t really matter either way. A dog is a dog.”  
“Yeah. He would have stolen my sweet buns even if he was pure bread”, Jean laughed. “He’d thief them out of my hand when I first moved there and didn’t realise to look after my food.”  
“That’s lovely”, I snorted.  
“Well, he was kind of one woman’s dog”, Jean smiled. “He wasn’t angry to others but he wasn’t really loving either. I guess I got under his wing a little during the time I lived there but he still wasn’t close to me, you know?”  
“I think I do”, I replied, a suspicion rising in my chest as Jean took his next turn. “Okay, I might be wrong, but are we going to...”  
“We are going back to our roots”, Jean smiled. “To where we first met even thought we really didn’t. Well. To where we first influenced each other’s lives.”  
“To that garden? Won’t the owner mind?” I worried. Jean shook his head.  
“Mark bought grandma’s old house for himself when she died. I mean, he wasn’t related to her but they got along so it felt natural. The garden is still old and wild and I know this because Mark just recently bought it, too. He hasn’t yet had the time to get into sorting it out, thought. I know that because he asked me to help him out with it.”  
“Are you close with Mark?” I asked. “He’s your uncle, right?”  
“Yes, dad’s brother. We are... I don’t know. Close-ish?” Jean wondered, parking by the garden wall. “We get along but in the end I don’t know that much about him.”  
“What do you mean?” I asked, opening my seatbelt as Jean killed the engine and checked the handbrake before opening his too.  
“Dunno. I don’t know anything about his relationships - if he has any, or his hobbies outside gardening and flowers in general”, Jean explained, pushing his door open. “But we are close enough that he offered me work in his shop even thought I know shit about flowers.”  
“Oh, did you accept?” I asked, smiling at the idea of Jean making bouquets.  
“We decided to rethink it when the weather gets a little cooler. Which is hopefully soon”, he sighed, looking at the clear blue sky. “I don’t really get along with hot weather.”  
“I have figured that”, I smiled. “Okay so... do we climb the wall like I used to or is there an actual way in that we could take?”  
“I’d say ‘lets climb the wall’ for the feeling. I promise to take it easy, that’s not a high wall.”  
“Let me help you up, then”, I shrugged. Jean nodded, keeping the keys in his hands for a moment.  
“I don’t want to drop these but I don’t have any good pockets”, he explained.  “Do you have any deep ones?”  
“I have one with a zipper”, I replied, taking the offered keys. “Okay, we all good now?”  
“I think so. Over the garden wall, then?”  
“Sounds good.”  
  
Jean walked to stand by the wall, looking up to it.  
“Alright, one, two, three, go”, he muttered before jumping up and grabbing the top of the old yellow bricked wall, smiling as he pulled himself on top of it before I had time to help him.  
“I thought I was supposed to help you”, I pointed out before following suite.  
“Sorry, you were too slow and it was too easy”, Jean said before dropping down with a soft thump. “You can help me up the other way to fulfil your prince fantasies.”  
“It’s not a prince fantasy”, I replied. “Just my worry.”  
“Yeah yeah, lets get to the tree, shall we?”  
  
We walked through the overgrown rose bushes (bad, bad idea - the thorns get stuck on your clothes and skin. Luckily the one getting seriously scratched was me so I didn’t have to smell Jean’s blood. I... really didn’t want to do that because I’d get the urge to bite him. Which was no good.  
The rest of the way to the apple trees was less painful, and short - after all it wasn’t a huge garden. Rather big, but not huge. Jean’s face was unreadable as he pointed out the tree.  
“That one, right?” he asked me. I nodded as a reply. Jean then pointed to our right, towards the house.  
“The window upstairs was mine”, he explained. “The one where I saw you from.”  
“I never saw you”, I replied. “Was always too busy climbing up and then just... looking at the tree, I guess?”  
“Well, I still only saw your feet”, Jean huffed. “Okay, lets climb up.”  
“We are seriously climbing it?”  
“If it’s okay with you?” Jean replied. “I wanna see if the carving is still there.”  
“Sure. It’s not the happiest place for me thought.”  
“That’s why we should make it a happy place.”  
  
Jean pulled himself up to one of the lowest branches before I had time to ask what he meant by his words. He gave me a wordless smile before climbing up to the next branch, then next. I followed him quietly, taking my own route - the one I had always taken - from the other side of the tree, meeting him up on the fork of two big boughs that were almost side by side. He was already sitting on the other one, facing me and the free bough that I settled myself onto, carefully treading my legs between his, as we both laid our sides against the trunk.  
“It’s still here”, I noted, running my hand by the old marks on the bark. “You must have carved it pretty deep back then.”  
“Or then I re-carved it a few times”, Jean admitted, looking bashful. “Haven’t for a couple of years, tho.”  
“Why would you do that?” I asked, surprised. Jean rubbed the back of his neck.  
“Well, I don’t know. I thought that you might still visit the garden even thought I didn’t live there anymore so I would check its condition every now and then when I visited grandma or Mark.”  
“Aww, what a cute kid you were.”  
“Shut up”, Jean groaned, shuffling into a better position, clanking his knee on mine as he did so. “Marco, could you move your leg a little.”  
“This one?”  
“No, just the other one.” I moved my leg a big further away from the trunk and Jean smiled, his eyes focused on the space. Then he moved his leg and body enough to lean on the bough that I was sitting on.  
“Perfect”, he muttered, lifting his face to me and smiling meekly. “Hi there.”  
“Hi”, I replied. “is that position okay?”  
“Yeah”, Jean replied, moving his other foot to lean on a lower branch. “I’m rather steadily set now.”  
“That’s good”, I smiled, reaching to place my foot on the bough he sat on. It did make me feel more steady, I had to admit that much. I looked for a good place for my other leg but couldn’t find any branches, so I just settled onto a bigger bump on the bark, smiling up at Jean when I was settled.  
  
To my surprise he closed the little space between us and kissed me. It emitted a surprised noise from my throat but I was quick to catch up with him, enjoying the soft pressure of his lips against mine. He pulled off after a while, smiling bashfully.  
“Remind me to buy you some lip balm soon”, I winked at him and he flared red, mumbling something incoherent. I laughed softly at him, leaning to kiss his nose. “It’s alright, you know”, I told him. “I don’t mind if your lips are dry as long as I can kiss you.”  
Jean decided to answer that with another kiss.  
It was weird. There we were, sitting in an apple tree like some kids, the still small apples and the green leaves surrounding us, hiding us from the world. It was warm, but less so than straight in the sunlight. I could constantly hear the leaves small susurrus in the background next to the sound of our lips softly interlocking, lazily, without a hurry or worry.  It was like one of those picture book summer days, with the bluest of blue skies with a few small white clouds passing by, the blazing sunlight and the greenery of everything around us and the small, gentle wind that barely reached us within the branches.  
Soft, warm and gentle.  
  
I intertwined my fingers loosely with Jean’s, leaving the hand by the trunk free so that I could use it for balance if needed. Jean was leaning more and more to my side, deepening the kiss, asking for permission with a swipe of his tongue against my lips. Which I gladly gave him, opening my mouth for him to slip his tongue in. He untangled his fingers from mine, moving them to my cheek as he tilted his and deepened the kiss a little more, the pace fastening with my heartbeat. His fingers slowly slid down from my cheekbone, swiping by my ear before nestling down at my jawline where he turned his hand around, dragging the palm side of few of his fingers up my cheek before dropping them back to my jaw, sliding under the tip of my chin where he gently held them for a moment, rolling a small circle to the side with his thumb.  Then he pulled away from the kiss, lifting his finger carefully to my lip and across it before gently lifting my chin up and leaning in to kiss my neck. All the way from where it joined with my chin to the dip of my collarbones, slow, teasingly soft kisses that sent shivers down my spine as he tilted my head to the side travelling up the side with his lips, stopping to gently nib at the pulse by my jaw, making me gulp at the sensation. I could feel his chuckle as a hot breath against my skin before he closed his lips against the sharp curve of my jaw by ear, rising the next kiss just a little behind my ear. Then I sensed a small, sharp pressure against my earlobe and I couldn’t prevent the gasp that fell from my lips. Jean nibbled at my earlobe again, sending tingles through my body and adding to the allready coiling hotness at the bottom of my stomach. My fingers clenched against his thigh where I had left them leaning when he let go of my fingers when he bit at it one last time.  
Before the smaller branch he was leaning his leg on cracked.  
  
I grabbed Jean’s shirt out of instinct, managing to help him keep his balance and backing off to his own bough.  
“Holy shit”, he breathed out, clenching his fingers against the branch. “That scared the shit outta me.”  
“Me too”, I breathed out. “You okay?”  
“Perfectly”, he answered. “Damn old trees and dry branches.”  
“We should probably get down before one of us really falls down”, I proposed.  
“Good idea”, Jean admitted with a nod. “Lets get down, then.”  
  
We took our routes down, Jean much better at it than I was. I had always hated descending from trees because you can’t really see where you are going then. But Jean just made his way back to the ground as if it was as easy as walking a straight line, waiting for me at the bottom, taking my hands into his when I was back standing on the grass.  
“Sorry if I scared you”, he half whispered, looking up to me a little shyly. “I shouldn’t have put so much weight on such a small branch.”  
“You couldn’t know that it was that dry”, I reassured him and leaned to steal a kiss from his lips. “What now?”  
“I think we could stay for a while”, Jean replied. “I mean, we could sit here on the trees’ shadows for sometime before going back.”  
“Sounds good”, I smiled. “Lets look for softest looking patch of grass.”  
  
The softest looking patch of grass turned out to be under one of the even older trees so we settled down by it’s trunk, laying on your sides and entangling our legs. It was no surprise that we carried on with the kissing - what would have been the point of letting such a good start to end because of a mere almost-accident? He kissed my lips again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as I ran my fingers through his messy hair. I let my other hand slowly fall down his side as our kisses deepened again, rolling my thumb by the notch of his hipbone before carefully slipping my fingers under his shirt. Jean shivered at the contact, making me worry for a second that it was because my fingers were cold but the way he hummed into the kiss told me otherwise. So I let my fingers run under his shirt, drawing out the outline of his spine and ribs, loving the way how he trembled under my touch as I swiped my fingers over his nipple before leaving them slowly play with his scar. I loved and hated that stupid scar - hated how it reminded me of how things weren’t okay, loved it for how it was there because he had been saved. Without it I would never have met him.  
  
Jean gasped into my mouth as I bit down to his lip a bit harder, his breathing already rather rapid at the point. I led my fingers back to his back, dragging my nails downward, scratching his skin lightly. It earned me a small whimper and a deep blush to Jean’s cheeks.  I moved my leg to  a better position between his and the way he jumped at the contact made me pull back a little and look at him. Jean whimpered in embarrassment and hid his burning face behind his hand.  
“You...” I started, unsure of how to form a coherent sentence because, oh, wow. “You uh”, I tried again, letting my hand slide back to his hipbone. “Want... help with that?”     
“I... I think we should stop now”, Jean replied, trying to clear his throat. “Sorry this is... terribly awkward.”  
“No, it’s okay”, I assured him. “I’m rather, eh, proud to get that reaction out of you. I don’t mind at all and I would love to h-”  
“It’s not that”, Jean wheezed, lowering his hand but still not looking at me. “It’s my heart.”  
“Are you okay?!” I hurried to ask, almost jumping up, but Jean stopped me with his hand on my shoulder.  
“I’m okay. It doesn’t hurt”, he calmed me, muttering something under his breath before continuing. “It’s just... how to say this. God, _yes_ , I’d love your help but I really like my heart beating, you know? And I was told to stay away from heavy exercise, and I know that this is not exactly exercise but- “ Jean stopped with a small groan, grabbing my hand and moving it up to his chest, atop his heart.  
“Can you feel how fast it’s already beating”, he whispered, his hand shaking on my wrist a little before he let it go. “I don’t know if it’s good for me right now.”  
“Oh”, I breathed out. “It’s okay, I should have thought about it.”  
“I’m sorry”, Jean whispered. “If I was normal this would not be a problem.”  
“I’m not normal either”, I smiled back at him. “So lets be weird together and take it at our own pace. There’s no need for us to hurry.”  
“I can.. I can help you out if you want, thought”, Jean said, gulping down. “If I didn’t ruin the whole... feeling again.”  
“You didn’t”, I assured him, leaning over to plant a kiss on the tip of his nose. “It’s okay. I’d rather wait for you and do this together. Sometime in the future, when you can enjoy it too.”  
  
Jean sighed softly, leaning to catch my lips once more.  
“Alright”, he replied. “Let's do that.”  
I smiled and opened my arms, asking him to scoot closer. He did, and I pulled him against my chest, running my hand through his hair again.  
“We have time”, I told him, nuzzling my nose into his hair. “We have so much time. It’s not gonna run out anytime soon, okay?”  
“Okay”,  he whispered against my chest, hands clenched on my shirt.  
We laid there silently, he in my arms, the soft green grass tickling our cheeks and the sunlight warming our scarred skins for a long time before we rose up and made our way back to the car, driving up to the beach because we didn’t want to go home. We walked by the shore, hand in hand, exchanging a small kiss now and then. I bought him ice cream from the booth even though he resisted a little first, saying that there wasn’t any point in only him enjoying something.  
_I can taste it from your lips_ , I told him then.  Somehow that was enough to convince him, and for the rest of the evening mint and chocolate lingered on his lips as they caressed mine.


	24. Skin. Water. Skin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Which left me being the one who had to climb in afterwards, dick first and all exposed.

5 years before,  
5 th of July,  
Western Trost; Marco’s home  
  
We had barely made it back to Marco’s when my phone buzzed with a new text from Sasha. I was halfway through undressing myself for a well deserved bath because, frankly, I felt like a snail with the sweat layer covering my skin from all the time spend under the blazing sun.  
  
From: Sweet-bun monster  
_Calling you in 2 mins, get your dick into your pants._  
  
“Thanks”, I muttered at the screen. Marco rose his eyebrows in question.  “Sasha said she’s gonna call in a few”, I simply replied, dropping my phone to his bed. “Told me too keep it in my pants.”  
“Ah”, Marco simply replied. “She sounds lovely.”  
“ _Love_ \- oh yeah, you haven’t met her. That explains it”, I yawned and sat next to the phone on the bed. “Well, I’d better wait for her call before bath, then.”  
Marco nodded, breathing out a small laughter before falling down to the bed next to me, curling up to lay on his side, silently looking at me.  
  
When my ringtone blared the room, it didn’t take me long to reply.  
“Before you ask, my dick is in my pants.”  
“Good”, Sasha laughed to my ear. “Very good indeed.”  
“Why’d you call?”  
“Wow, how enthusiastic. Thought you might have missed me, too.”  
“Well, duh, but you sent me a text beforehand so I know that it’s something important”, I sighed to the phone and rolled my eyes. Marco smirked but kept silent.  
“True. Your mother called me. Asked me if you are here.”  
“Well, as you can probably see I’m not.”  
“What happened, Jean? Is everything okay?”  
“We just fought”, I muttered. “The usual, you know.”  
“She sounded a bit too shaken for it to be the usual, Jean.”  
“Don’t go clever on me Sasha”, I whined. “It doesn’t suit you.”  
“You can thank Connie for that one”, she simply replied. “You don’t have to talk about it but you know that we care, right?”  
“Yeah, I know.”  
“Good.”  
“Was that all you had to say or..?”  
“Oh, no!” Sasha chirped, her tone suddenly happy. “I have some good news to you.”  
“Uh oh, who died?” Marco snapped his eyes to mine and carefully shook my head, trying to signal that I was kidding.  
“No one, yet!”  
“That’s good. What happened, then?”  
“The wedding day. It’s sealed.”  
“Your wedding day?” I asked, rising my eyebrows. “Wow. When is it, then?”  
“August first.”  
“WHAT?” I exclaimed, making Marco jump on his place besides me. “That’s like in, what, three weeks? How the fuck are you going to get everything ready in time if you just got the day set? I know that you are an idiot but this is a new level of-”  
“Calm your horses Kirstein, we have known for a while already.”  
“Don’t make it sound like you haven’t, then!” I groaned, running my hand through my hair. “Why am I only hearing about it now, then?”  
“Because you were _kind of_   laying in hospital, Jean”,  Sasha replied. “We thought that it’d be better to let you rest without stressing over this.”  
“Why would I stress over your wedding, idiot”, I sighed. “I’m delighted, okay? I really am. It’s going to be amazing to see two of my friends getting married.”  
“Thanks”, Sasha hummed. “But seriously, we didn’t want to give you anything extra to worry about. Now that you are out of the hospital and hopefully well-”  
“I’m alright, Sasha.”  
“-good. Well. Now you know. Wedding’s on August 1st. We will need you to train with us a few times and the similar beforehand. Will that be okay?”  
“Yeah, just tell me where and when on time”, I agreed. “You seriously handing this okay thought? Have you sent invitations, made reservations for food-”  
“I have my mum’s restaurant, Jean. And we have sent out all the invitations _minus_ yours.”  
“Rude”, I mused. “Why not mine.”  
“I wanted to know if you are bringing a date, that’s it. You will get prettier invitation card if you are.”  
I looked over to Marco.  
“If I’m bringing a date to your wedding..?” I hummed, tilting my head at him. Marco pointed at himself, surprised. I nodded, trying to mouth “OK?” at him.  
  
Marco’s face fucking light up like a sun and he nodded frantically, mouthing ‘yes’ at me.  
“Y-yeah”, I muttered to the phone, trying to ignore the leap of my heart. “I will be bringing a date.”  
“WHAAT!” Sasha shouted, almost breaking my ear. I pulled the phone away from my ear but could still clearly hear her “CONNIE! JEAN’S BRINGING A DATE!” shout. I shook my head before settling the phone back to my ear.  
“It’s pretty rude to sound so surprised about it when you asked yourself”, I told her.  
“Who is it? Is it that hottie from instagram? What was his name, Marco?”  
“Yeah, Marco”, I replied. “So?”  
“I thought you told me that he’s not your Prince Charming”, Sasha chirped. Marco snorted, proceeding to quickly cover his mouth. Oh, oh yeah. Vampires and their unnaturally good hearing. That was a thing.  
“And you denied that he was making goo goo eyes at you... “  
“My god, let it rest”, I groaned. “We were just friends back then, okay? We got together recently.”  
I opted for the casual ‘recently’ instead of honestly saying ‘today’.  
“So he did give you goo goo eyes, then...”  
“Sasha, stop.”  
“No, I need to knooow”, she whined to my ear. “Jeaaaan.”  
“Jeesus you are disgusting”, I sighed. “So maybe Marco gave me goo goo eyes back in what, late May? The fuck would I know? And what does it matter now?”  
“Nothing”, Sasha laughed. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”  
“I hate you.”  
“No, you love me.”  
“No, I absolutely despise you Sasha. Stop teasing me about Marco alright? Did you have anything else that you have to tell me about the wedding?”  
“Yeah, gimme a sec I need to look through my papers.”  
There was a short silence and some rustling of papers on her end before she continued.  
“Okay, so Jean. Do you have a blue suit?”  
  
_Blue suit,_  
_groups of crying people,_  
_open grave and wooden cross with my name on it,_  
_those fingers on leather gloves and a kiss hidden from sight._  
  
“Whether I have a blue suit or not?” I asked, the words uncomfortable on my tongue. To my surprise the smile had fallen from Marco’s face as Sasha mentioned the suit and I couldn’t understand why. I had my nightmares, but I didn’t have the slightest idea what could make Marco look so uncomfortable at the mention of blue suits. “Why are you asking that?”  
“We are keeping a blue wedding”, Sasha replied. “My dress is white-blue and Connie’s suit is too. We’d want you and the flower girls in blue.”  
“I don’t... have a blue suit”, I breathed out, trying to chase away the memories of blue suits and funerals that kept popping into my mind no matter how I tried to ignore them. _It was just a nightmare._ Seriously. Just a nightmare, dude.  
“Then we need a shopping date to get one”, she hummed. “What about Marco? Does he have a blue suit?”  
“What’s Marco now? Your flower girl?”  
“No no, but you two should match. Bring him too for the shopping date.”  
“Sasha”, I warned wearily. “I don’t have money for a suit and I can’t speak for Marco either.”  
“Jag ska betala för den”, Sasha replied just as cheerily as before. “Så du måste följa med.“  
“Sasha! Du ska inte betala för-”  
“Jo, det kommer jag, eftersom jag är rich, you know that.”  
“Please stop changing languages in middle of a fucking sentence, that’s rude _not to mention confusing_ and no, for the love of everything you are not buying us suits!”  
“Who cares about languages!” she laughed. “And yes, Kirstein, I am. It’s happening whether you like it or not.”  
  
I sighed, knowing full well that Sasha was unstoppable force once she decided on something. So if she wanted to buy me a suit, she’d buy me a suit.  
All that I had hope for was making her give up on the idea of _blue_.  
“Why blue”, I asked carefully. “It’s not very wedding-y, you know.”  
“Krista tipped me on it”, Sasha explained matter of factly as if her words were supposed to make any sense to me. They didn’t.  
“Krista?” I repeated, running the name over my mind. “Who the fuck is Krista? Your goldfish?”  
“Oh no no,  she’s my friend! Gosh Jean, she’s soooo cute and she has this really scary girlfriend-”  
“Doesn’t matter, Sasha, I’m not interested in this Krista whoever’s love life. I’m interested in why you trust this woman with something as important as your own wedding’s theme colour?”  
“That’s because she’s super good at art, Jean. Studies colour psychology and stuff at uni!”  
  
I’m pretty sure that by ‘stuff’ Sasha mean ‘ _I have no idea about the rest_ ’.  
I sighed rubbing my temple. The whole conversation was starting to wear me off.  
“And?” I asked her. “What did she have to say about blue that made you go ‘yeah that sounds good lets make that our wedding colour’?”  
“Oh, uh, lemme check... I wrote it down... it’s somewhere..  ah!” Sasha chirped, accompanied with a lot of rustling. “There it is! So”, she stopped to dramatically clear her throat.  
“ _I think blue would work lovely as the side colour for your wedding, angel!_ ”, she read out.  
“Please skip the pet names and sweet talk and get to the business”, I interrupted, making her groan loudly to the receiver.  
“You are a boring old man, Jean Kirstein. But okay”, she sighed before continuing;“'This is what she said that got to me: _’blue is the colour of dignity and trust and it represents sky and waters. I think that is a gr_ \- wait, wait a sec Jean - what Connie, _what_ is it-”  
No.  
_This gotta be a dream._  
“Oh, uh, I gotta go Jean. I’m sorry, I will call you on Monday, alright? Get ready for some serious shopping!”  
“Sasha w-” _wait_ , I wanted to say, but before I could finish my word Sasha had already cut the line, leaving me alone with my unsaid words with the sad row of stagnant toots the only company the phone had to offer to me. So I dropped it from my ear, letting it fall to the bed.  
“What the hell...”  
  
_Why did it have to be the same words?_  
  
“Jean”, Marco said, placing his hand carefully to my shoulder. “Jean what is it? You look like you’d have seen a ghost?”  
“It’s... it’s nothing”, I breathed out, turning to look at him, finding myself meeting with dark eyes and white complexion.  
“Woah Marco, you look like you’d have seen a ghost yourself.”  
“It’s nothing”, Marco muttered, lowering his eyes. “Just... got reminded of a bad dream.”  
Wait. _What?_  
_No no, it can’t be.  That’s simply not possible._  
“You.. too?” I carefully asked.  
_Please say that I heard you wrong._  
Marco blinked a few times, clearly confused, before replying.  
“What? _You_ got reminded of a dream too, Jean?”  
_Well there went that hope, then._  
“Yeah”, I breathed out. “Wow, weird.”  
“Y-yeah”, Marco replied. “But it must be nothing, right?”  
“Yeah”, I agreed. “It’s not... possible to see same dreams, in the end.”  
  
We stared at each other in the suddenly quiet room and neither of us seemed to know what to say. I mean, I can’t speak for Marco but at least I was feeling _anything_ but reassured, with a cold jitter travelling up my spine and setting the hair on my arms into standing ovation for creepiness.  
  
“What if we tell about our dreams?” Marco hurried to offer a few beats too late to even pretend that it could have seemed natural. He was trying to keep a smile on his face so hard, but it looked horribly faked as he tapped his nose before continuing.  
“It should make everything feel less weird, I think.”  
“Good idea”, I agreed just as hurriedly and yet so late as he had been, knowing my own smile to be just as or even less convincing as his had been. “I, uh, you start?”  
“Alright”, Marco nodded, voice jittering a little at the start. “It was a really weird dream and I saw it a while ago so I’m not sure if I remember everything but... uh”, he chuckled bashfully,  blushing a little as he settled his hands onto his lap. “I wasn’t really myself in it. I had these weird black clothes and you were there with me, dressed alike. We went to your funeral.”  
  
_No._  
_This doesn’t make sense._  
“M-my funeral”, I hesitated, wavering. “Where I wore a blue suit?”  
“Yes. Wait, how did you...” Marco started, his voice hitching but I stopped him.  
_This isn’t funny anymore._  
“And I was a vampire”, I continued. “And I bit this blonde woman and-”  
“Oh. Oh my god”, Marco whispered, grabbing my hand. His was shaking.  
“She said the same about blue suits”, he silently continued, eyes locked onto mine. “When we were standing by your grave.”  
“This is not funny”, I told him, my voice barely a whisper. “This is fucking creepy.”  
“I... agree”, Marco breathed out. “I... this is like some horribly bad movie... how come you have seen the same dream as me?”  
“You tell me”, I replied, shrugging at him, trying to ignore the creep on my back. “Have you seen others? With that blonde woman?”  
“Yes”, Marco replied, biting his lip. “And you, too.”  
“Me too”, I crooned. “But you were never _you_ in them. She called you the Death.”  
“This is fucked up”, Marco eloquently offered with a scared little laugh and a breaking voice. “What the fuck is going on here?”  
“I don’t know!” I cried out, clenching onto his fingers. “Is it a vampire thing? Is it because you bit me?”  
“Never heard that anyone would have shared dreams with the one they bit”, Marco shook his head and gritted his teeth. “I don’t understand this any more than you do. I haven’t been this confused since I was turned and learned that vampires are real.”  
  
I stared at him silently for a while, feeling my own body shake.  
“Okay”, I whispered. “Lets see if there are more dreams we shared. The one where we sat on this green cloud kissing?”  
“Seen that one”, Marco hummed. “The one where I painted all these other paper people and then you painted me?”  
“Yeah”, I agreed with a nod.  
“You refused to kiss me in that one.”  
“Well, excuse my dream self. You always cried when I kissed you there.”  
“True”, Marco sighed, trying to smile a little. “What about the... the one where you called me your dog?”  
“What?” I asked, rising my eyebrows. “Can’t remember seeing one like that.”  
“Oh, okay”,  Marco laughed. “Probably good.”  
“Why?” I asked, but Marco just shook his head, a slight dust of pink tingling to his cheeks. Now I _really_ wanted to know, fucked up or not.  But I didn’t want to pressure him too much, either.  
“Do you have any more dreams Jean?”  
“Well, I saw one last night”, I admitted. Marco hummed, knitting his eyebrows together.  
“I don’t remember seeing dreams.”  
“Okay”, I breathed out. “So we dream of some blonde lady, sometimes alone and sometimes together.”  
“Something like that.”  
“Please wake me up and tell me this was all a dream”, I whined. “Or don’t but this is not funny.”  
“Yeah, this is not funny at all”, Marco muttered, biting down to his lip again. “I don’t understand.”  
“Neither do I.”  
“Maybe we should ask her”, Marco proposed, tilting his head. “In our next dream.”  
“If there are more and if we can even remember”, I groaned, dragging the palm of my hand over my face. “I wanna go back to normal life with none of this supernatural bullshit.”  
“Well, excuse me for being supernatural bullshit.”  
“I didn’t mean you.”  
“I know”, Marco sighed. “I am a little scared.”  
“Me too.”  
  
The knock on the door made both me and Marco jump, snapping us back to the present.  
“Marco? Can I come in?” a low male voice boomed from the other side, knocking the door again.  
“Y-yeah, come in Reiner!” Marco breathed out, giving me a quick glance. The door was pulled open and a muscular - _like really muscular_ \- blond man stepped in.  
“I wanted to know if you two would like to go to sauna after Annie?” he asked, smiling. Marco looked over to me.  
“More heat after all that heat outside?” I asked, smirking. “Sign me up.”  
There’s no better place for forgetting one’s worries than sauna, in the end  
“Alright”, Marco confirmed with a nod. “We will go. Thanks Reiner.”  
“No problem. Pleased to meet you, Jean”, the man then said, nodding at me. “Marco told me that you are staying with him for a while.”  
“Yes”, I replied, not really knowing what to say. “Uh, I’m sorry if it causes you any trouble.”  
“Not at all”, he beamed with a surprising laugh. “Just don’t hesitate to spend time with the rest of us, too.”  
“We won’t”, Marco reassured. “Will you call us out when we can go or...?”  
“I think Annie’s out in a few minutes, so if you collect you stuff and come downstairs you won’t have to wait long”, Reiner mused. “There are croissants if Jean wants any btw.”  
“Okay, thanks, we will come down soon then”, Marco replied. Reiner nodded and stepped out of the room, pulling the door behind him closed.  
  
Marco stood up, stretching his hands up with a small ‘hnnngh’ escaping his lips.  
“Okay, sauna stuff”, he then smiled. “I’ll get us what’s needed, you can stay put meanwhile I guess?”  
“Alright”, I nodded, flopping down to my back on his bed. I listened to him walk across the room, into the storage space and the silence once I couldn’t hear to the thump of his feet anymore. Marco’s ceiling above me was askew and pretty with it’s stick on stars that I guessed to be the kind that glow in the dark. It had never been dark in his bedroom while I was in so I couldn’t be sure, but they surely looked like it with their pale greenish tone.  
  
Whatever poetic thoughts were about to form in my mind about the stars and how they resembled certain someone’s skin didn’t have time become anything. Because that certain someone also known by the name of Marco stopped them by throwing a towel straight to my face as a way of expressing his return.  
“That’s your little towel for the sauna and the big one that you used last time. I have shampoo downstairs before you ask about that so no, I don’t think we need anything else.”  
“Alright”, I muttered, pulling the cloth off my face. “Should we go then?”  
“Well, I’m ready so why not. Do you wanna pull on a shirt?”  
“Reiner-or-whoever already saw my scar so no point”, I whined and dragged myself up. “If they ask, the answer is ‘heart surgery as kid’ and nothing else if possible.”  
“Annie knows it’s more than that”, Marco sighed, looking apologetic. “A little. Since she was the one to drive me to and out of the hospital.”  
“Annie knew anyway”, I hummed. “She dates one of my childhood friends, after all.”  
“Ah, of course”, Marco muttered, humming thoughtfully.  “Shall we go?”  
“Yeah, sure”, I smiled and readjusted the towels I had collected into my arms. “Lets go.”  
  
Marco held the door open for me, letting me slip into the narrow staircase before him. He hovered behind me, waiting for me to move past the first step so that he could follow me down the stairs but I didn’t.  Not before I had turned around and rose to tiptoes to give him a small, quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. It seemed to steal whatever breath Marco had left away,  tinting his cheeks as I grinned at him and proceeded to descend the stairs with the goofiest of smirks plastered onto my face.  
  
_God I love teasing that boy._  
  
Marco stepped past me at the end of the flight, his fingers slightly caressing my side as he went by. He pulled open one of the double doors that lead to the area of the house that was still unknown to me. What the door led to seemed to be a spacy and cosy dining area with a sofa in the corner and stereos in the other.  But speaking of that sofa - it was red and there was an incredibly long legged man laying on it, a book on his hands that he slowly lowered as we stepped deeper into the room.  
“Hi, Marco”, he greeted in a soft, calm tone before turning his attention to me.  “And Jean, I presume.”  
“Yes, nice to meet you...” I glanced awkwardly over to Marco, who took the hint.  
“Jean, this is my flatmate Bertolt - usually called just Bertl. Bertl, this is my... the Jean I have talked about earlier”, Marco offered, signalling between us. I tried to ignore the way Bertolt’s brows jumped on Marco’s awkward introduction as he proceeded to politely nod at me.  
“Annie just went downstairs a few minutes ago”, he then said, lifting the book back up. “So the sauna is all yours. She added some wood to the fire so there should be enough warmth left for you two.”  
“Thank you”, Marco smiled, turning to me then. “Come, this way.”  
  
He walked me through the next room - a kitchen - to the lone door on its end. He pushed it open and stepped in, closing it behind me once I had made my way in, too.  
And there we were, standing close by in the small space clearly meant for undressing and storing one’s clothes in, with the wooden bench and small table. It was probably all rather lovely looking but I was too busy to register more than necessary because it had just worked out the equation for me, Marco and a sauna would mean seeing him naked and getting seen naked by him and I had no fucking idea what to do. Marco was awkwardly shifting his weight from leg to another, rubbing the underside of his nose and pointedly not looking at me but at the wall somewhere behind me. I understood the feeling, I really did. But someone needed to do something, really. So I cleared my throat awkwardly, the sound unnecessarily loud in the silence trapped between the white tiles, easily catching his attention.  
“So we gonna do this naked like the norm or...?” I choked out, looking over to his tattooed shoulder, to where I knew the little mark of bravery to lie beneath his shirt. I didn’t have it in me to look into his eyes as I asked it.  
“I guess”, Marco replied, settling down his towels and pulling off his shirt. “I guess that’s how it goes.”  
  
Then he met my eyes for the first time since we arrived in the room, both of us now shirtless and suddenly overwhelmed with the knowledge that we would be naked very soon. For an extended period of time. Sharing a small, sweaty room.  
"What”, I started, having to start again for the little short-circuit in my thoughts that almost made me choke on my own drool. “What if we just pretend that it's yesterday and we are still just friends?"  
"I was just as attracted to your ass yesterday as I am today", Marco snorted, shaking his head. “So no, problem not solved, _Kirstein_.”  
I had not idea what to say, but naturally my mouth was running faster than my head. Not that that would be anything new or worth mentioning anymore.  
"Just my ass?” I gasped.  “Wow."  
"Sorry. Let me correct myself”, Marco sneered, locking his eyes with mine, his face serious as it could be. “I was just as attracted to your asshole personality yesterday as I am today."  
  
Maybe three seconds later the tug at the corner of his lips was too much for me to handle and I snorted. Which quickly became a few chuckles, then a half hysteric laughing fit that he soon followed me into.  By the time that I finally managed to calm down I was a wheezing mess, a sharp pain throbbing my abs as I slammed my fist gently against the bench. Marco was grinning widely and wiping tears from the corners of his eyes as I regained my composure and dropped my towels next to his on the bench.  
“Let's get the fuck naked”, I hummed merrily.  
“Let's”, Marco grinned back, dropping his hands to his belt. “Or we will still stand here tomorrow.”  
  
We turned so that we didn’t face each other, quickly getting rid of the rest of clothes we were wearing. Marco leaned to grab both of our little towels from the bench, giving me a small smile as I looked at him past my shoulder.  
“You take the shower first - I’m gonna go settle these and check that we have water.  Any preferences for the side?”  
“Closer to the door”, I replied and Marco hummed.  
“Alright, the green one is yours”, he added and with that, he turned round and walked across the room and pulled open the sauna’s glass door. I totally didn’t stare at his ass as he did it, nor at the way the feathers of his wing tattoo wrapped to his lower back. Not much, at least.  
  
I hurried myself under the shower, finding the water hitting my skin refreshingly (and calmingly) cool, letting it drench me as I stood on my place. I only willed myself to move once I heard Marco returning, gesturing him that the shower was free, careful to keep my eyes to his his upper body as I did so. He smiled back at me as I slipped past him and I was already about to step into the sauna when he stopped me.  
“Jean, wait.”  
I turned a little to look at him, accidentally sweeping my eyes from his toes up and _oh my god_ before snapping them to his face.  
“Are you gonna keep your dog tags on? Won’t those burn you?”  
My hand flew to the thin chain against the skin of my neck. I had really forgotten them on.  
“Shit”, I mumbled, hurrying to open the lock and sliding the necklace off my neck. “Thanks for pointing it out, that would have hurt.”  
“No problem”, Marco hummed, turning back to face the shower. I awkwardly sauntered across the room from behind to leave the tags on top of my clothes on the bench. It gave Marco the time needed to finish his little pre-sauna shower and make his way inside.  
  
Which left me being the one who had to climb in afterwards, dick first and all exposed.  
  
Definitely not what I had planned to do, but it was too late to back away at this point. So I made my way across the room, feeling like I was in the middle of some weird ass walk of shame when I pulled the sauna’s glass door open and slipped in while _definitely not_ looking at Marco. But it wasn’t a big sauna, so whether I wanted to look at him or not I still saw his knee as I pulled the door closed and climbed up onto the highest bench.  
I sat down on my little green towel (that had Moomintroll printed on it - sorry bro, I’m squishing your face with my ass and no can do), lifting my legs up awkwardly. I also wrapped my arms around them and settled my jaw atop them, still aggressively _not looking_ at the naked Marco to my left.  
“You okay if I throw in some water, Jean?”  
“Yeah.”  
  
I heard him filling the scoop with water and the pleasant hissing sound of it hitting the warm rocks of the kiuas and vaporizing in a matter of seconds, sending a wave of heat against my skin.  
“Sorry”, Marco laughed. “I kind of like the sauna hot. And I mean _hot_.”  
“Mm, it’s no problem, me too.”  
  
I heard a chuckle and some rustling from his side before feeling a small jab on my thigh. I slowly turned my gaze to see that Marco was gently jabbing me with his toe.  
“You won’t be able to breath well like that. Relax, it’s okay.”  
I slowly let my gaze follow up Marco’s leg to, well, all the way up to his face. He had turned to lean on the wooded wall, facing my side and his... everything was pretty much directly in my range of sight.  
“It’s easy for you to say”, I muttered, feeling not so confident next to him. It’s funny, really - I used to be so confident about how I looked (if the scar was to be damned, at least) but after seeing him I had to face how much more defined his muscles were, how he had that damn attractive line of hair travelling up to navel and how his body and face were sculpture worthy in general. I guess when you fall for someone of your gender it’s so easy to compare your body to your lovers, and that’s a game that’s hard to win.  
”I have no idea why you think that it's easy for me to say”, Marco told me, drawing a circle  against my skin with his toe. “But you can really turn or at least settle your legs down. If it’s about you hiding your dick, then all I can say is that I already kind of saw it and it looks great, and I have no regrets about saying that.”  
I moved my gaze back to his, this time in disbelief. Marco just continued.  
“Furthermore, I’m gonna get friendly with your cock someday anyway, aren’t I? So by all means, sit comfortably and don’t worry about how well I can see it.”  
  
Clearly, it hadn’t even crossed Marco’s mind that I could be feeling unsure with my skinniness next to him which was actually.... really reassuring?  
“I’m not sure if this the normal way to get acquainted with your lover’s dick”, I smirked, pushing his leg away to make space for myself as I turned to lean on the wall on my side and lifted my legs between us too. “But alright then.”  
“Who cares”, Marco smirked back, slipping his leg past mine to a more comfortable position. “I don’t think that we are really traditional in any sense.”  
“True”, I admitted. “I like that we aren’t.”  
“I guess that’s a good thing”, Marco smiled. “Because you won’t get traditional with me.”  
“Not even cute coffee shop dates?” I asked, nudging his leg with mine. “Where we stare into each other’s eyes over our coffee cups and secretly hold hands under the table?”  
“Hmm”, Marco hummed, letting his eyes fall closed. “You can have that if I can have have water instead of coffee. Or tea.”  
“Caffeine free, or course?”  
“You know me so well”, Marco smirked. “Is it okay if I-”  
“Yeah, you can throw just as much water as you want.”  
“Thanks”, Marco laughed, leaning in to do so. He didn’t kid about liking his sauna hot, I guess.  
  
We settled in one of those little silences we held - not awkward ‘we couldn’t come with anything to say’ kind of silence but one of the comfortable ones. One of those where you are comfortable and know that whoever you are with is comfortable, too. Those ones.  
It was maybe five, maybe ten minutes later when Marco dropped his legs to the lower bench, a small smile rising to his lips.  
“Come here, Jean”, he smiled at patted the space next to him. “I want to show you something.”  
  
Can you blame me from not being sure of how innocent that invitation was?  
  
Nevertheless, I carefully dropped my own legs down to and scooted over with my little green towel and sat down by him, raising my eyebrows questioningly. Our shoulders almost bumped together now and Marco was keeping his gaze in front of him, biting his lip to contain his smile. I waited for him say something, but he didn’t, just smirked more, giving me a quick glance, his lips twitching a little as he tried to talk. But he gave the word up before even starting it, shaking his head a little. He glanced back to the wall, the smile wider and wider on his cheeks. Then, with a little chuckle he slowly leaned closer to me until our shoulders touched, leaning a little onto me, making my stomach jump.  
“Mar-”  
“I feel like a human, don’t I?” he smirked, bashful smile on his lips as he gave me a quick glance, squirming a little on his place, unable to stay in place from his excitement like a little boy.  “I’m warm, right?” he continued, now looking straight into my eyes with that grin plastered onto his face, the short locks smooching his forehead lovingly.  
  
Sure, he was right - he was _warm_. But I could barely tell it from the burst of warmth that exploded inside of me, filling every ounce of my being as he smiled at me.  
_God I love you._  
  
The surprised little noise he left as my fingers found his cheek and my lips his, dropped my stomach in a way that probably should have made me feel sick.  But the drop was laced with so many emotions I didn’t have words for that, it felt like heaven.  
_God_ , the way he looked at me as I pulled away, I could have gotten drunk on his eyes.  
“You were right”, I breathed, feeling the smile tugging my own lips as I leaned my damp forehead onto his. “You really are warm now.”  
Marco seemed to have lost whatever words he had, opening his mouth soundlessly a few times as a blush crept onto his cheeks.  
“But you know”, I whispered, lowering myself to peck his nose. “I like you just as much with your cold skin.”  
  
There was a sharp cut in his breath as I spoke but he didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around be, pulling me against his chest. Slick skin on skin, naked and _warm_.  
Hell.  
Not a good timing, mind.  
No no, not now.  
“Thank you.”  
A breathy whisper by my ear, a huff of air on my neck and the graze of his lips and _oh god_ , if you don’t stop Marco I will pop the most inappropriate boner in the history of humankind.  
Marco’s breath caressed my shoulder as he chuckled.  
I’m gonna die if this goes on.  
“It’s getting a bit too hot in here”, he laughed, pulling a little further away but leaving his hands crossed behind my neck.  
_Yeah, you are._  
“We should probably hit the shower, you look a little faint”, Marco further noted, tilting his head a little as he run those goddamn perfect eyes across my face.    
“Y-yeah, alright”, I managed to sputter out. _Please don’t look at my lips now  or I might have to throw you against the wall._ “That sounds like a plan.”  
“Alright”, Marco hummed, sliding his hands from behind me, dragging his fingers a little down my chest before separating the contact. “After you, then.”  
  
I opted for a nod because I, sure as hell, didn’t trust either my mouth, voice or mind not to give out my feelings. I scooted up and made my way down and through the door to the a lot of cooler bathroom air without another sound, throwing the little towel to the direction of the bench where we left our clothes. I could hear Marco descending the stairs behind me as I stumbled with the shower, barely managing to open it with my shaking fingers.  
  
_Alright, you can do this Jean. Concentrate on the water._  
  
“Mind if I join you?”  
_When did you even walk past the door?_  
“Sure, go on, I don’t mind.”  
_I mind and a lot._  
A freckled arm reached for the shampoo from behind me - birch scent, the label said. I could hear the bottle being popped open behind me.  
“Can I?” he asked as,  a click telling me that the bottle was closed before the hand pushed to the little shower shelf again.  
“Can you what”, I asked carefully, keeping my eyes on the droplet stained tiles in front of me, looking at the reflected shape on their glassy surface. “What do you mean?”  
“Can I wash your hair?”  
“If you want to.”  
  
It shouldn’t sound so right and yet so wrong.  
  
“I need you to step back a little or the shampoo will be washed off before it even touches your hair.”  
“Oh, right.”  
A step backward, water across my face. His hand on my back stopped me, the water hitting my chest now.  
“You okay?”  
“Yeah.”  
Then there were his fingers sliding into my hair, rubbing careful circles onto my scalp. Starting from the longer hair on the top and slowly dropping down to the undercut by my temples, behind my ear, down to my neck.  
He slowly dragged one finger down the middle of my neck, along my spine all the way down to the dip in the small of my back. I could feel his eyes on my skin and it sent shivers down my body.  
“Step forward and I will rinse the shampoo off.”  
I obeyed, closing my eyes stepping forward until the water hit the top of my head and I could feel the shampoo running down my face. Marco’s fingers immediately twined back into my locks, pushing them from side to side, running his fingers across my scalp again, over and over.  
  
I didn’t mean to do what I did then, but I had to change my position a little on the floor that was now slippery with the shampoo. It was just a little step back to get a better standing. But Marco didn’t realise what I was about to do and he didn’t step back on time.  So I definitely was able feel something poking my backside, just for a fleeting moment before he pulled away. But the surprised gasp that left Marco’s lips at the contact didn’t leave me questioning _what_ I had collided with.  
  
My cheeks were set aflame.  
Marco’s hands faltered for a fraction of a second before he recovered, continuing the rinsing of my hair as if nothing had happened.  
But I didn’t want to pretend that nothing had happened.  
So I swept my leg back, closer to him and rolled my bum from side to another against his cock.  
Marco’s hands seized moving, a literal whimper escaping from between his teeth.  
I gave my hips another roll, dragging the feeling of him against me. Marco’s hands dropped to my shoulders, his finger squeezing into the flesh there.  
“Jean, that’s not fair.”  
“Life never is, Marco”, I told him, backing a bit more against him, making him gasp.  
“But Jean, it’s not fair on you, we should wait till you-”  
I didn’t bother listening till the end, turning around, breaking his grip and killing whatever protest he had still wanted to form with my lips on his. It was my turn to grip his shoulders, guiding his steps, turning him and pushing him back first under the shower and all the way backwards until his beautiful, freckled back was pushed against the wall. Marco left out a little grunt as I pressed him tighter against it, sliding my knee between his legs before letting my hands loose to run them down his chest, back up, down his defined biceps, his sides... anything I could reach and dared to touch as his hands coiled behind my back, pulling me harder against him. He gasped into the kiss as his length rubbed up against my lower stomach and I couldn’t pretend that my own dick hadn’t twitched in interest with all the action, not when I was flush against his naked body and I knew he would feel it too. But it didn’t matter now - it was about Marco, it was about making him feel good.  
  
I separated our lips, slightly parting our bodies to get a look at him.  
What I was met with was Marco ripped off his usual composure and and kind smiles. What was left were flushed cheeks and blown up pupils, his eyes so dark they reminded me of tar now, and his plump, pink kissed lips parted, panting. His chest was heaving up and down in heated speed, his complexion more alive than I had ever seen before, with the flush that had risen to his chest where my nails had scratched him a little.  The still running water from the shower was splashing onto him from where it hit my back and shoulder, dotting his chest and face with occasional new droplets that were joined by the ones falling from his messed up raven hair.    
  
I ran my palm flat down the center of his chest, letting my eyes follow it’s travel atop his pretty skin and defined abs, all the way down to his bellybutton where I slowly stopped, leaving my fingers resting at the coarse start of his happy trail.  
“May... I?” I breathed out, gulping down the pressure gnawing at my throat as I lifted my eyes back to meet his half closed ones.  
Marco's reply was barely audible and a little squirmy “yes” that made my heart leap in my chest. But even more so it leaped as Marco whimpered and pressed his face to the nook my neck, burning red up to his ears, too embarrassed to look at me anymore.  
God, I loved this boy. Man. Vampire.  
**Him.**  
  
I carefully slid my fingers down to his length, running my fingers slowly up, feeling the vein on its downside.  
That’s when Marco bit me.  
Sank his teeth onto the skin at the nook of my neck, making me jump a little. It took me a few beats to realise that he hadn’t used his vampire teeth, just silenced down a whimper.  
  
Well.  
Sorry neck, this is happening now.  
  
I gave his length a few more brushes of my fingers, feeling Marco’s breath on my skin before wrapping them carefully around him.  
Another bite and an apologetic kiss on the skin. I hummed and slowly, not as surely as I’d have liked to be gave his dick a few experimental pumps.  
A half escaped moan before teeth were at my flesh again, Marco’s mouth slowly dropping towards my shoulder. I take it meant I wasn’t doing anything that wrong.  
It was just that he had to stay silent, somehow. After all, he had flatmates.  
  
That realisation probably shouldn’t have turned me on more, but apparently it did.  Nice finding new sides to myself while holding someone else’s dick in the shower. Life truly likes to surprise me in the most curious ways.  
  
I carefully started pumping my - I admit it- shaking hand around him, making him bite me more, on my shoulder this time. It hurt, but I couldn’t care - and even less as he audibly gasped and bit his teeth onto my collarbone as I swiped my thumb over the head.  
“Oh god”, he whimpered as he separated his teeth from skin. “Jean I-”  
I twisted my wrist into a little different angle and Marco was too busy biting back onto my flesh to say whatever he had wanted, his fingers pressing onto my back hard, shaking like the rest of him. A few more pumps and his hips budged involuntarily and I  was too busy, way too drunk on the knowledge that it was _me_ who was making him feel this way, making him shatter in my hands in all the best ways, throwing him so off he had to bite me to keep it down to realize that his hands hand travelled down my back before he groped my ass.  
“Jean”, he panted as I gasped at the sudden contact, his voice strained but determined. “Please, you too.”  
“I’m okay”, is what I tried to say, at least, but it came out as an ”I-” and a whine as Marco removed his other hand from my arse and grabbed my wrist.  
“I will listen to your heart, Jean”, he whispered to the space between us, rising his eyes to finally meet mine. “So, please. I want to do this with you, not alone.”  
I was lost in those tar eyes shadowed by long, curled lashes and the freckles scattered around them. Lost in the way he looked at me like I was worth something, like I _mattered_.  
  
Maybe, for him, I really did.  
Maybe, for him, I was precious.  
Maybe, for him, I was worth it.  
  
“Okay”, I whispered, so silent it should have drowned in the beat of water against my skin. He smiled down at me, leaning in to kiss my lips so tenderly that I thought that I’d burst.  
  
_How could you care so much for a broken boy like me?_  
  
“I’m gonna take care of you, Jean”, he breathed against my lips. “I won’t let you fall.”  
He wrapped his fingers around both of us, and I knew that I was already leaking precome even thought I had barely even spared a thought to myself, just enjoyed his reactions, drinking them in like the best of wines.  
But Marco was different,  
and I guess that maybe he saw through me  
saw that I was scared,  
because he kissed me again, really carefully before he even moved his hand.  
  
It didn’t take us either that long,  
not with his lips kissing down my neck and my nails scratching down his back as I bucked into his hand, against him, in a mess of whispered curses and drank down names.  He lifted me up with his free hand, flipping us over with me against the wall now, my shaking legs wrapping around his hips as he freed us to grab the other side of my hips too, grinding into me, against me. Getting out any friction we could get from the other’s length and the disappearing space between us, between our skins in the slick sound of skin water skin.  
  
He was the first to come with this teeth back on my collarbone but I didn’t hold any longer, really, not when he hurried to wrap his fingers back to my length and sent me overboard with a few tugs and his muffled name on my lips.  
  
We slowly slid down against the wall, to the floor as his shaking legs got the best out of him. We sat there, me still half on his lap, silently panting out in exhaustion and bliss.  
“Sorry I bit you so hard”, Marco said after a while, raising his gaze to me, an askew and a little embarrassed smirk tugging at his lips as he rose his fingers to touch my collarbone. “That might bruise a little.”  
“A little”, I laughed breathlessly, leaning my forehead to his chest, my breath hitting the lowest black branches of his tattoo.  “I’m gonna look like I got hit by a car by tomorrow.”  
“I’m sorryyyy”, Marco whined, laughter present in his voice. “You were a bit too much for me to handle.”  
“You have no right to say that”, I sneered, lifting my finger to jab at his abs. “With your stupidly perfect body and tattoos and smile you have been too much for me to handle for god knows how long.”  
“You flatter me”, Marco giggled, running his fingers up my spine to my neck. “You flatter me way too much.”  
“Probably.”  
“You are supposed to say that you don’t flatter me at all, Jean.”  
“I don’t play by the rules.”  
“That sure as hell is true.”  
  
We gazed at each other, laughter boiling at the bottom of my stomach once more. Based on the glint on his eyes, it was the same for him.  
“What if we wash up and go up to my room”, Marco smirked, leaning forward to kiss the top of my head. “And we cuddle or some shit before sleeping.”  
“You can’t say ‘or some shit’ Marco, you are supposed to be the romantic one out of us.”  
“I can’t do anything about you teaching me bad habits, darling.”  
  
_Darling._  
Have some mercy on my poor heart, _you dork_.  
  
I smiled, shaking my head..  
“Alright then, idiot.”  
“Don’t be a meanie, Jean. Come on, be nice back to me.”  
“Alright then, _sweetest of fine assed sweethearts on this planet, my dearest and most lovable darling vampire Marco._ ”  
  
The blush on his cheeks was worth it all.  
Damn any blonde ladies,  
damn any blue suits.  
I have Marco and Marco has me.  
  
Maybe we can just pretend all is fine as long as his fingers still reach out to hold mine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “[I’ll pay for it]”, Sasha replied just as cheerily as before. “[So you’ll have to come.]“  
> “[Sasha! You aren’t paying for-]”  
> “[Yes, I will, since I’m] rich, you know that.”


	25. Empty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I could never forget the wind.  
> Or how, on that bridge, ‘I’ disappeared.
> 
> All that was left was salted skin and silent fears  
> a mouth and teeth and the want to scream  
> but there was no ‘voice’ in ‘me’.  
> Actually, there was no ‘me’.
> 
> So it wasn’t ‘me’ who climbed up.  
> It was the emptiness that ‘I’ used to drive off.

When I was three, I wanted to be a vet.  
Maybe that’s not as cool as a fire-fighter or a policeman, but it was a dream none the less. A pure hope for a future, a dream of adulthood.  
  
How did it all turn out with me becoming a suicidal teen,  
a young man who was ready to toss everything away.  
A boy who didn’t believe he would live to be a man.  
A man who still wanted to die.  
That I know, and yet I don’t know.  
It’s such a long and hard story to even think of.  
  
It wasn’t even the beatings and it wasn’t the lack of safety. It was the lack of love that drew me apart. When the people who you are told to love you invariably don’t do it... it’s hard to handle.  
  
Makes you believe you are unlovable, really.  
  
If you ask me about what happened on 21st of May,  seven years in the past, I can’t tell you much. I can tell you I tried to kill myself, for that was the day I climbed the Trost Bridge, ready to die. Well, I did die, even thought it wasn’t the way I intended to do it. But you already knew that much, didn’t you?  
  
I can’t remember much of that night.  
Just pulsing details and emotions,  
the lack of fear and the sudden horror.  
And the wind.  
I could never forget the wind.  
Or how, on that bridge, ‘I’ disappeared.  
  
All that was left was salted skin and silent fears  
a mouth and teeth and the want to scream  
but there was no ‘voice’ in ‘me’.  
Actually, there was no ‘me’.  
  
So it wasn’t ‘me’ who climbed up.  
It was the emptiness that ‘I’ used to drive off.  
  
You see, the only thing ‘it’ ever was scared of was the blood.  
Warm blood. That felt almost oily as it ran down my arms.  
Warm. Red.  
And thicker than water.  
But ‘it’ wasn’t scared of blood anymore.  
Not today. _Nevermore_ , I thought.  
There simply was no escaping ‘it’ anymore.  
  
It was windy, up at the top.  
Pushing salt through my veins, up my hair,  
through my bones and down my lungs.  
Salted through, free of mind and fear,  
everything was swaying a little, like in the sea.  
But the waters below were just the asphalt and steel,  
with the rocky waves of dry canal.  
  
That’s how it seemed, I guess.  
When I looked over the rail,  
to both of ‘my’ sides.  
  
Would it hurt ‘me’ when I fell down?  
Probably.  
But that’s the thing.  
Hurt.  
That had always made me feel again.  
But I hadn’t felt anymore. No matter how I hurt, I didn’t feel.  
Hadn’t felt anymore.  
Not since she died.  
  
I guess ‘I’ wanted to feel alive, even for a second.  
Just once more.  
Who knew, maybe this time it would hurt enough.  
Maybe, this time, ‘I’ could have felt again.  
  
Maybe, I thought,  I could even find a new home.  
Because you know, you know what they say about homes?  
You know it. Everyone knows it.  
They say that it’s where your heart is.  
  
Home.  
Home is where your heart is.  
Home is where your loved ones are.  
  
But no one taught you what to do,  
if you don’t know were your home is, did they?  
No one taught you about homes that weren’t homes.  
  
What if the ones I hate are who I used to love?  
What should I do? Where should I be?  
Home couldn’t be where where hate is, could it?  
So if I grew to hate my family, where’s my home then? Is it even there anymore?  
Is it in the memories of past and the smiles that are no more?  
Or was I without a home from the moment I lost my love?  
I didn’t know. I didn’t know. I still don’t know.  
Should I?  
  
‘I’ don’t know.  
Who am ‘I’.  
What was ‘I’.  
When was ‘I’.  
  
I still ask myself these question.  
It’s so incredibly hard to stop thinking sometimes.  
I know I should stop, but I can’t.  
So I just ask them, over and over. Repeatedly.  
Unless it all just becomes a meaningless mess. A mumble. A rhyme.  
A ‘nothing’.  
  
Nothing.

***

5 years before,  
10 th of July,  
Western Trost; home  
  
Kirstein family members surely had the habit of surprising me by appearing behind my door without much of pre-warning.This time, I just didn’t recognize the man whom I opened it to.  
  
“Hi”, he greeted me, his features softening into a charming smile. “Is Jean here?”  
“Hi”, I replied slowly, eyeing him warily. He had long hair hanging in a loose braid and ash brown beard framing his chin. Blue eyes in tanned skin,  adorned by a few lines pressed to their corners, paired with the thin ones on his forehead. He seemed to be maybe on his late thirties - early forties, but he had a fit body and one of those ageless expressions so I really couldn’t tell. His clothing didn’t help much either - black slacks and a white button up. Right.  
“And who might be asking?” I finally continued, straightening myself. Maybe the red denim shorts and a blue  t-shirt turned into a self made low cut tank top asking the man in front me what kind of mushrooms he had eaten wasn’t the most convincing clothing combination but I had to play with what I had.  So I smiled at him politely but sternly, blocking the entryway. The man’s smile didn’t falter.  
“Mark Kirstein”, he answered and extended his hand to the space in between us. “Jean’s uncle. You are Marco, I presume?”  
“Right”, I replied, ignoring the hand in front of me. “And why are you looking for Jean here?”  
“I went to visit his friends Connie and Sasha in hopes of finding him there. They told me that Jean’s with some Marco in Western Trost. Luckily they also had an address.”  
“I see”, I muttered. “Wait here”,  I added  and stepped away from the door frame, making my way across the room. The man didn’t move, I could tell. I would have heard it.  
  
I gave the sleeping figure on my bed a gentle shake on his shoulder. All reply I got from under the covers was a prolonged groan.  
“Wake up”, I told him. “Your uncle is here.”  
That stirred him up, it seemed, because the cover was pulled off from his face and a very sleepy looking Jean emerged from under it.  
“My uncle?” he asked, looking at me questioningly.  
“Check for yourself”, I told him and pointed at the door. Jean willed himself into a sitting position, a smile flashing onto his face as he saw the figure.  
“Mark!” he smirked, kicking the covers off his feet and standing up. “What the hell are you doing here?”  
“Hello”, the man smiled back and waved his hand. “I came to check on you.”  
Then, turning his gaze to me, he continued: “May I come in?”  
“Leave your shoes outside”, I simply replied, placing my hand on Jean's shoulder. “You want coffee?”  
“Yeah, thanks”, Jean replied.  I nodded, slipping past him towards the storage room. I might or might not have moved the kettle there from the kitchen - seriously, it had been a pain to boil the water downstairs. No one else wanted anything hot to drink in the summer anyway, so it wasn’t much of trouble.  
  
A quick look revealed the kettle to still be almost full of water, so I just clicked it on before returning to the other room. What I was faced with was Jean hugging his uncle which was - pardon me for thinking so - a little surprising. He was smiling widely.  
“Oh”, he said as he noticed me coming back. “Marco, this is my uncle Mark. The one who owns Mark’s Flowers if that wasn’t clear enough. Mark, this is Marco.”  
“Hi”, I mumbled. “Jean, before I forget - who exactly have you given my address to?”  
“...Sasha?” Jean answered hesitantly after a few beats. “She needed it for when she’ll pick us up for shopping so I gave it. Why?”  
“He probably wondered if I was honest about where I got it”, Mark noted, smirking. “I went to see your friends first because I thought you’d be there.”  
“I thought mum would have told you that I wasn’t”, Jean said, surprise clear on his voice. “I mean, aren’t you here because of her?”  
“I’m not here because of her”, Mark replied, his voice and face growing stern. “I’m here because I wanted to check on you.”  
  
Jean blinked at his uncle, dumbfounded it seemed. The click of the kettle finishing reached my ears after a few seconds of silence, giving me a good excuse to break the little moment that was, for some unknown reason, extremely awkward for me.  
“Mr Kirstein”, I said, getting both of the Kirsteins turning their gazes to me. “Do you want a cup of coffee, too? It’s just instant one tho, just to warn to you.”  
“That’d be lovely, thank you”, Mark smiled at me, then turned back to Jean. “You still a little coffee addicted?”  
“A little”, Jean smirked. “Let me help Marco out a little - just wait here, okay?” he continued, motioning around the room. “We won’t take long.”  
“Alright”, Mark chuckled. “Is it okay if I sit down?”  
“The sofa’s there for a reason”, I told him, taking a step back towards the storage. “Feel free to use it.”  
  
I didn’t wait for any thank you’s before turning round and making my way back, Jean following on my footsteps. I was a little surprised as I heard him close the door behind us but didn’t question it and made my way to the table by the fridge.  
“Sorry about that”, Jean said as he appeared to my side. “I didn’t guess she’d give away the address - I can assure you she wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t Mark. They get along well.”  
“Oh”, I hummed. “Why?”  
“Mark’s shop is next to the house she and Connie live in”, Jean explained, sighing as he rummaged through the slowly dwindling selection of coffee.  “And Sasha did all her middle school work trainings in his shop. So they are kind of buddies.”  
“Is Sasha a florist herself?” I asked, turning to the closest cupboard to pull out two cups that I stashed inside it.  
“No, she’s studying to be a chef”, Jean hummed as he took out a few coffee sachets. “She just liked flowers a lot back then.”  
“I see”, I muttered, placing the mugs on the table in front of Jean.  He emptied two sachets to both - big mugs really aren’t always that conventional - before pouring water over the powdery mix.  He kept his silence until he had mixed contents of both mugs.  
  
“Mark is a good guy”, he then said, rising his gaze to mine. “A little weird, but good. I’m sorry he barged in like this but please give him a change.”  
“It’s alright”,  I said, leaning to give his cheek a small peck. “I’m not angry or anything. Just worried.”  
“It’ll be fine”, Jean smiled, lifting the mugs up. “Lets go back.”  
“Jean”, I stopped him, clearing my throat. “You two can talk French together if you want to. I don’t mind.”  
“We don’t talk French together”, Jean shrugged. “I don’t know why - we just never have. Maybe that’s weird but... it’s just how we are. I don’t know if he talks French to anyone anymore.”  
“Oh, okay”, I nodded, a little bemused. “Swedish, then?”  
“He doesn’t speak a word of Swedish”, Jean snorted. “But it’s fine. We communicate just fine even like this”  
“Your family is a bit...”  
“Weird? Impractically multi-lingual?” Jean helpfully offered, then shrugged. “I know.”  
  
He turned round after a smile, not saying another word as he made his way through the door back into the room. I waited a little before following him, arriving in time to see him give the other cup to his uncle and sitting next to him. Then he looked up to me.  
“I can leave if you want to?” I volunteered, pointing at the door to the stairs. Jean shook his head.  
“No no, don’t”, he said. “I was just wondering if it’s okay that we took your sofa and whether there’s any good place for you to sit left or not.”  
“I can take the pillows if you want me to stay here”, I huffed and before checking: “You seriously want me here?”  
“Yeah”, Jean replied, looking at Mark. “I don’t think he will have anything to say that you couldn’t hear Marco. Right, Mark?”  
“None so, I’d believe”, Mark replied with a shrug. “Since I’d expect him to know why you are here.”  
“Pretty much”, Jean replied. I raised my eyebrows at him as I walked past the sofa to sit at the puffy pillows at the side. “Like he knowns I had a fight but not word to word how that fight went.”  
“I don’t know word to word either”, Mark shrugged. “I have no problem with him being here if you want him here.”  
“I want him here”, Jean replied, glancing at me with a smile before turning back to Mark. “But seriously Mark, why are you here?”  
  
Mark took a deep breath and pursed his lips, letting out a small ‘hmm’ as he cocked his head and looked at Jean searchingly. Jean looked back at him with his brows arched high.  
“As I said, I came to check on you”, Mark then said. “I was worried about how you are feeling after that fight. Your mum said some unnecessarily evil things to you.”  
“Not as mean as I said to her”, Jean shook his head, lowering his eyes.  
“No”, Mark sighed. “See, your mother is an adult. Sure, so are you legally speaking - but she’s much older than you are and she’s your mother.  She should have known better than that.”  
Jean didn’t reply. He just shrugged his shoulders.  
“Jean, I mean it”, Mark insisted, carefully placing his hand to Jean’s shoulder. “She hasn’t been fair on you, and she knows it.”  
“I’m not going back before she -”  
“I am not here to make you go back”, Mark stopped him. “I’m not. But I want you to know she told me she will talk to you once you go back.”  
“Maybe she should call me then”, Jean snorted, shaking his head. “To tell it to me.”  
“You know she’s much too proud to call you”, Mark noted. “I think you two should meet in neutral grounds - maybe at a café or a restaurant - and then talk it through. But only when you want to. I am not telling you to call or text her - I will fully understand if you don’t. I am going to talk to her about it and make her do it anyway.”    
“Thanks, I guess”, Jean huffed, giving the man a small smile. “Don’t pressure her too much, tho. She will sniff it out if you do.”  
“I know how to play cards with your mum, don’t worry”, Mark smiled, winking. Jean answered with a rather comical sound of disgust.  
  
Mark laughed a little, giving me a short look before asking Jean.  
“How have you been? Not just your heart, but you in general?”  
“Heart’s been fine”, Jean muttered. “Waiting for check up and promise to start exercising more. Otherwise I’m rather fine, actually. You? “  
“Good to hear”, Mark smiled. “I have been good, what with all the weddings keeping me busy. Just delivered way too many flowers to one. I mean, I love flowers, but too much is still too much.”  
“Yeah, don’t overwork yourself”, Jean warned him. “I know you like to deny needing help.”  
“Hey now, I don’t do that”, Mark laughed. “I wanted to ask if you are still interested in working a little for me in the Autumn?”  
“Sure”, Jean nodded. “As long as you teach me the ropes - I have studied a bit but I still don’t know much about flowers.”  
“Yes, I have heard”, Mark smiled. “Your mother asked me to send those flowers to your nurse. She was surprised you knew those flowers by their names.”  
“Trust me, I’m still more surprised about it myself”, Jean smirked. “But I’m learning slowly.”  
“That’s good”, Mark smiled. “What about you, Marco? How have you been?”  
“Ah, umn”, I stammered, surprised to be invited into the conversation. “I have been fine, thank you for asking, Mr Kirstein.”  
“That’s good to hear”, Mark nodded. “And please, just call me Mark. Thank you for letting Jean stay here.”  
“Oh, it’s no trouble”, I hurried to assure. “It’s my pleasure to have him over.”  
“How did you two meet?” Mark asked, pointing from Jean to me. “I don’t remember Jean mentioning you before so I assume you haven’t known for that long.”  
“We met in April”, Jean replied before I had time. “He saved me from some hooligans.”  
“Oh, so Marco’s that guy”, Mark hummed. “Your little saviour.”  
“Not so little”, Jean laughed. “He’s bigger than I am. And older.”  
  
That boy fucking winked at me as he said ‘bigger’. _Goddammit Jean, not a good moment._  
“Ah, how old are you then?” Mark asked, smiling politely, apparently not noticing Jean’s blatant flirting.  
“Twenty two”, I replied and cleared my throat. “So not much older.”  
It wasn’t much of a lie, in the end.  
“Twenty-two, that’s not a bad age”, Mark smiled. “I hope life will be good to you. Anyways, I’m glad to see that you are well Jean. I still have work to do today, so I will get going. Thank you for the coffee.”  
“You’re welcome”, I replied.  
“Stay safe”, Jean continued with a lazy wave of his hand. “It was nice seeing you, but please call next time before knocking on my friends’ doors.”  
“Noted”, Mark smiled as rose up, leaving his cup on the sofa table, giving me a questioning look. I nodded, hoping that it conveyed the message of it being okay. “Well, I will now excuse myself. No need to get up, I will get out myself.”  
“Was there someone in the kitchen?” I asked him, stopping him by  the door.  
“Yes”, he replied. “A blond man. Why?”  
“You need key for opening the front door, even from inside”, I told him. “Ask him to let you out.”  
“Thank you, noted”, Mark smiled, pushing the door open. “Oh, one more thing”,  he then added, already half out the room. “Jeanbo, I forgot tot say but before you meet with your mum, it might be worth it to wait until those bruises have disappeared.  Well, stay safe boys.”  
With that he pushed the door closed after himself.  
  
Jean lifted his hand to his neck, his mouth fallen open and a blush creeping onto his cheeks.  
“Shit”, he mumbled, turning to look at me. “He totally guessed, didn’t he?”  
“I guess”, I coughed, feeling the heat on my own cheeks too. But a little pride too because now someone knew he was mine.  
_Territorial much, Marco?_  
“Hnnghgh”, Jean whined flopping down to his side after setting his coffee cup down. “It’s gonna be fun seeing him next time. ‘Stay safe boys’, he so meant sex.”  
“Probably”, I hummed.  “But we don’t have to worry about that for a while.”  
“What? Him or sex?”  
“I meant sex, I don’t know how often you meet up with your uncle.”  
“Mm, right. Hopefully not soon is my reply to that”, Jean groaned and buried his face between the green seat and blue little pillow I kept on it.  
  
I thought back to the morning after the moment with had shared - the way we talked it all through. _Lets not have sex until you are declared healthy enough to do heavy exercise._ Nice and simple. Possibly a little hard to keep when he kept flirting with me a like that and just annoyingly hot in general, but hey - if I did fine without sex for 24 years, I’d do fine without for a month or so more without any trouble.  
Almost as if he had read my mind, Jean looked back at me.  
“Do you always tell people that you are twenty two?”  
“Yes”, I replied. “Since that’s how old I was when I died.”  
“I know but... couldn’t you say twenty four just as well?” he asked, rising up. “I mean, it’s just a two year difference - no one is going to look at you and say that there’s no way you are that old.”  
“But I’m not twenty four”, I sighed. “And I will never be. I’m not a human.  I’m forever twenty two and that’s it. My body will never get older again and I already have a baby face.”  
“You don’t have a baby face”, Jean retorted. “I, in the other hand, look like a skinny teenager next to you. I should probably grow some muscle mass or something.”  
“Heh? You look very good the way you are”, I assured him, surprised. “Nothing wrong with being slender.”  
“Guess not”, Jean mumbled. “I just feel that I look like a child next to you.”  
  
I looked at him, in silence. For a few ticking seconds, I held his stare, finding no lies in it.  He really, honestly believed so, it seemed.  
“I can assure you that the Jean you showed me in the shower is anything but childish”, I told him. “He’s got a very beautiful body. Hot could be another word to be used to describe they way it looked. I liked what I saw a lot.”  
“Jessus Marco”, Jean cut in. “How can you even say that with straight face?”  
“I can’t”, I smiled. “I can assure you that my face is really gay right now.”  
“Was that a fucking pun, Bott?”  
“It might have been, Kirstein.”  
“I hate you.”  
“No you don’t”, I smiled and rose up. “But to other topics - has Sasha yet decided when we will go suit shopping?”  
“No, not really”, Jean sighed. “She said she will try Saturday but it depends on whether her favourite worker can come to the boutique or not. “  
“Her favourite worker? Boutique? Where is she taking us?” I asked him. Jean shrugged.  
“A few towns down, she said. Prepare for a few hour car trip and so on- shit, will you be okay with that?”  
“What, a car trip? Sure?”  
“With all the sunlight?”  
“I thought I already told you that I will be fine as long as I wear sunscreen.”  
“Ah, yeah”, Jean sighed. “Sorry. Mornings.”  
“It’s alright”, I smiled, rising my hands over my head and cracking my shoulders. “Any plans for today?”  
“Actually, kind of”, Jean replied. “Depends on you thought.”  
“Okay, what is it?” I asked. “And does it require any physical actions?”  
“Only walking”, Jean replied. “Yesterday, after you fell asleep Sasha sent me a message asking us to come over today. What do you think? Should we go? They wanna meet you.”  
“Sure, why not”,  I shrugged. “Where do they live?”  
“Right in the center, so one and a half kilometres from here?” Jean pondered. “I will send her a text. Would leaving after I eat breakfast be fine?”  
“Yeah, that’s okay”, I smiled. “Eat something and I will do dip myself in sunscreen meanwhile.”  
“Need any help with that?” Jean asked with a smirk. I gave him a stare.  
“I will manage by myself, but thank you for the offer.”  
“Aaw, too bad”, Jean sighed dramatically. “I would have loved to smother the Bott-butt in some ol’ sunscreen.”  
“Some another day”, I muttered. “I’m not going to your friend’s place if you grope my my sunscreened butt because I will be too busy throwing you against the wall. Which is not a good plan nor according to our prmise so no, not this time.”  
“Why do you think that I would grope your butt?”  
“You wouldn’t?”  
“Well, I probably would.”  
“See”, I smirked, leaning to ran my hand through his messy hair. “Now, eat and get dressed.”  
“Boring”, Jean sighed and stood up. “But alright.”  
  
He slapped my butt as he walked past me.  
I decided it was better not to comment on it as I made my way to the bathroom, shaking my had slightly and keeping the snort held back.  
  
A good twenty minutes later, once I had smothered myself in some sunscreen and Jean was done with his breakfast and dressing up, we bid my flatmates goodbye and stepped out of the door to the warmth of the morning. The birds were singing and I could hear the wash of waves a few streets down. It was still silent - really, no one moved around old Trost before midday on Thursday mornings in the summer, not unless they were some very lost tourists.  
  
I offered Jean my hand and he took it and we strolled silently through the streets, enjoying the still lingering coolness in the shadows of the buildings. The day would turn hot, there was no second guessing that - I gave Jean a little look. If it’s get too hot I’d call Annie to drive us back, no matter what Jean would say. I wouldn’t risk it.  
_You already risked it with sex, Marco._  
_Sush mind. We do not think about that now._  
  
Sunshine played on Jean’s hair, making it look even lighter than usual. He, for once, looked well rested - no black bags under his eyes and he seemed to be catching just a little bit of a healthy tan. He told me that he can never sleep well in hospitals. That the crying people he can hear in the distance keep him awake, or snoring room mates when he’s in a shared room. _They don’t even have to snore,_ he added. _Just the rustling of their bedclothes is bad enough._  
Poor you, I had thought. He was tired, I could have told. But a week of well slept nights behind of him was helping him greatly.  
I was glad.  
  
We made it quietly through the still waking town, Jean only stopping once to ask me which route would be faster to take. I had asked where exactly were we going and shook my head, pointing him to lone narrow staircase instead. A few even narrower alleys later we popped back to the bigger streets, almost right by the house we were going for. Jean let out a low whistle of appreciation.  
“You surely know your way around”, he said. “I never even realised one could, I dunno, take those stairs?”  
“Trost is full of small fun routes like that”, I replied. “The older parts, that’s it. The center is old enough to have a few. Okay, that’s Mark’s shop isn’t it?” I asked, pointing at a flower shop a few houses further away.  
“Yep”, Jean nodded. “We are going to the building just before it, though. Lets pray Mark doesn’t see us.”  
“I don’t know what we have to loose even if he does”, I smirked, holding Jean’s hand a little harder in mine. “I think he’s very well aware of our relationship not being platonic.”  
“Still”, Jean whined, but squeezed my hand back nevertheless. “He’s still my uncle and that’s pretty embarrassing for me. He will look at me with knowing eyes next time we meet and that will make my mum question him about what’s going on and he will just be like, ‘oh, Maria, I think you’ll have to ask your son yourself’. And she will. she will question me until she gets it out.”  
“Is your mother’s name Maria?”  
“Actually it’s Anne-Maria, but everyone just calls here Maria.”  
“It’s a pretty name”,  I smiled. “What about your father? What was his name?”  
“Guillaume”, Jean simply replied. “We are taking this door by the way”, he continued and tugged me to the side, up to a glass door in a light pink building and pulled it open. “The second floor.”  
  
The staircase was wide and cool as we walked it up to the said second floor and the last door of the three in that corridor. Seemed like his friends had the corner apartment.  
Jean didn’t have time to push the doorbell before the door was already opened. I had to jump a bit backwards not to get hit by it and Jean followed me, slipping his hand from in between mine.  
“Goddammit Sasha, could you please learn to act like a normal human and stop trying to hit your visitors the second they arrive?” Jean barked at the tall, brunette girl who was smiling at us widely, unfaced by Jean’s wild and rather rude hand gestures.  
“Förlåt mig, Jean”, she smirked, stepping away from the door. “Come in, you two.”  
  
I followed Jean into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind me. The girl - Sasha, I reminded myself - had disappeared somewhere further inside, leaving the two us alone to get rid of our shoes. I cleared my throat awkwardly, getting Jean’s attention.  
“Are both of your friends... native Swedish speakers?” I asked carefully. “I mean, if yes, should I try speaking Swedish to them or..?”  
“Only Sasha is native”, Jean shrugged. “And you don’t speak good enough Swedish to do it, do you? So just speak how you normally would.”  
“Okay”, I sighed.  “I’m sorry I’m not as good with languages as the rest of you.”  
“It’s fine”, Jean smiled. “You don’t have to be. Nobody will judge you for it, so just relax. Those of us who can speak more are the ones who should adapt to the situation and use whatever language is suitable at the time.”  
  
I silently took the offered hand and nodded, letting Jean to lead me into what seemed to be his friend’s living room. Sasha and a short guy with a shaved head were standing there. The guy met with my gaze and lifted his hand lazily to a small greeting.  
“Welcome”, he then said. “I’m Connie and this is my almost-wife Sasha. I assume that you are Jean’s boyfriend Marco, right?”  
“Y-yes”, I stuttered, trying to hide the bubbling happiness at the sound of Jean’s boyfriend. Should get used to that someday.  
_Or then not, Marco._  
_He’s got a beating heart and life to live,_  
_and you are a boy frozen in time._  
_Nothing good could come out of that._  
  
“Isn’t he handsome tho?”  
The sound of the girl’s voice snapped me back to reality and I gave Jean a confused look. Jean looked like he was about to curse.  
“Like”, the girl continued, taking a few steps closer to me. “Look at him Connie. That jawline is what they call classically handsome, isn’t it? He’s got pretty nice biceps, too. Not to mention what long legs - Jean has really caught himself a good one, hasn’t it?”  
“I have to agree with you”, Connie smirked. “But hold your tongue, you are still supposed to marry me.”  
“I am, and I will”, Sasha laughed. “But it doesn’t mean that I’m blind. I’m just checking out the pony’s prize trophy - I have to say that he must have done something really well to catch this one. Or then-” she continued, suddenly standing right in front of Jean, pulling at his collar. “Maybe he was the one to ride this time?”  
“Sasha, stop”, Jean sighed and removed the girl’s hand from his collar. “Don’t talk about Marco like he was some kind of trophy, he’s a living being if you haven’t noticed. He understands what you say.”  
  
_Well, I do understand, but I wouldn’t say that I’m alive._  
“Nice to meet you, Sasha”, I carefully offered and extended my hand. “And thank you for letting me come to your wedding.”  
“Oh”, Sasha smirked and took my hand into some kind of death grip. “Nice to meet you, Marco. I wanted to set you two up but apparently you were quicker than I was. Do tell me, how did you woo my son over? Or did he make the first move?”  
“Sasha”, Jean warned. But I smirked, holding back a chuckle.  
“He said he wanted to read books with me”, I said, nodding towards Jean. “Then he kissed me.”  
“Hey!” Jean exclaimed, looking at me like I was crazy.  
“What? You kissed me then”, I laughed. “After asking me to read books.”  
“You are leaving details out”, Jean groaned, looking slightly piqued. “It was totally your fault that I kissed you.”  
“Well, even if it was, you were still the one to confess”, I shrugged,  completely enjoying the blush creeping up to his face. “That one you can’t deny.”  
Jean’s reply was a groan, a shake of his head and a muttered “don’t you even dare to ask” at Sasha’s expecting face.  
  
“Do you guys want coffee?” Connie asked, nodding his head towards what I guessed to be the kitchen. “I can make some if you want to.”  
“No thanks”, Jean replied. “I already drank my morning coffee. But suit yourself if you want any.”  
“Oh, we already drank ours, too”, Connie shrugged. “We were thinking if you want to play Alias with us on the balcony?”  
“Alias?” I asked, turning to look at Jean. Jean rose his eyebrows.  
“You have never played Alias?” he asked, disbelief strong in his voice. I shook my head.  
“No idea what it is.”  
  
“It’s the best game known to man”, Sasha jumped to comment, her eyes huge and quite literally sparkling. “Simply, you make teams and explain words to each other. The other has to guess what word the other is trying to explain. You, naturally, aren’t allowed to say the word itself or if it’s a compound word, you aren’t allowed to use any parts of the word.”  
“Alright”, I nodded. “Sounds simple enough.”  
“You have one minute at a time to explain the words”, Jean continued. “You have these cards with the words in them. You explain a word from the card based on what number your pawn is on the gameboard.  Each correctly guessed word is a point and a step forward on the board. Still following?”  
“Yes”, I nodded. “What else?”  
“Sometimes the board has these special numbers”, Jean continued. “I will show you what I mean once we set it up. On those numbers, the other team has the permission to try to steal the words that you are explaining. Who ever guesses the word correctly gets the point during those.”  
“Okay. What happens if you can’t guess a word?”  
“We usually count those as minus points”, Jean shrugged. “Same with time running out. So if you have three seconds left after guessing a word, it’s probably not worth it to pick a new card.”  
“Okay”, I nodded.  
“Sasha”, Jean then said, turning to look at the girl. “We are playing the basic version since he’s a first timer, right?”  
“I guess so”, Sasha nodded. “Party Alias would be a bit cruel for the starter.”  
“Do I even want to know?” I asked.  
“Noup”, Jean laughed. “Or well, in it you have to do all these crazy things _while_ you explain the words. Easiest ones are like ‘holding your nose’ but seriously, it can get really hard. So trust me when I say that you want to start with the normal version.”  
“Alright”, I laughed. “I’m ready to play.”  
“Good”, Jean nodded. “What about you guys?”  
“As ready as can be”, Sasha smiled. “Do you want anything to drink? Coke? Orange juice?”  
“Coke for me. Ice water for Marco, right?” Jean replied, looking at me. I nodded.  
“Ooh, are you one of the healthy people?” Sasha asked. I gave her a shrug and apologetic grin.  
  
“Lets go set the game up”, Connie said, nodding at me and Jean. “And you will get to choose the best seats.”  
We followed the man through a door that was hidden behind the tall curtains in the end of the room - how nice was it to have access to a balcony from your living room? - out into the nicely sized balcony. There was a four person table on it and Jean and I grabbed the seat opposite to each other on the side closer to the door. I guessed Jean didn’t want me to be sitting on direct sunlight, which was a bit moving. Or then he just didn’t like sitting under it himself - I had noticed that my boyfriend wasn’t the biggest fan of the blazing sunlight.  
Connie returned inside briefly to get the game. It came in a red box and Jean and I set the board up as he pointed out the special numbers where you could steal the words, showed me the hourglass and walked me through the rules again. I snatched the green paw for our team, whereas Sasha chose the blue for theirs once she arrived with drinks for everyone and settled to sit next to Jean.  
  
What I found out by playing the game was that it was fun, a little hectic game. At one point Sasha and Jean were straight out shouting at each other’s face about whether the time had run out or not before she had guessed the word Connie had been explaining. I called it off and told them that it hadn’t, and Jean had backed off with a sigh and a roll of his eyes. I smirked at him and kicked his leg gently, telling him not to be a sore loser.  
Guessing the words was fun, but sometimes a little complicated. The blush on Jean’s face when he needed to explain the word ‘condom’ to me had to be one of my favourite parts of the whole game - probably everyone else’s but his, it seemed. Based on the series of guffaws that Sasha and Connie both fell into after the turn was over, at least.  
  
My  favourite part out of everything, however, was in the end of our first ‘steal the word’ number. Sasha and Connie had already ripped a point to themselves by guessing the word ‘crane’. When I frantically pulled out the new card and saw the word, I couldn’t help the smirk that blossomed onto my cheeks. I locked my eyes with Jean’s, ignoring the hungry and ready stares of the two others and quickly, but clearly said:  
“A tampon sucking tease.”  
“VAMPIRE”, Jean shouted and slammed his hand to the table. I nodded and smiled, not having time to pull out a new card. As the time officially ended maybe a second later, Sasha was still staring from me to Jean.  
“What the hell was that”, she asked. “How... tampon.. what...?”  
“Boyfriend secrets”, Jean smugly replied and winked at me, a laughter in his voice. “I’m not explaining it to you.”  
Sasha wouldn’t drop it for a while, but Jean and I stayed silent, just smirking at each other.  It warmed my heart to know that we shared something that others didn’t. Beside deep, dark secrets, that is.  
  
We stayed a while after the game ended - Connie and Sasha just barely beat us in it.  We sat at the balcony, others eating ice cream. I refused, naturally, and they didn’t seem to mind. I was content enough with holding Jean’s hand and stealing a kiss from his ice cream tainted lips.  
  
Irish coffee and the taste of his lips fit together really well.  
  
We excused ourselves before dinner time, refusing the invitation since ‘we promised to eat with Marco’s flatmates today’. Of course we never ate with them. Annie made her own veggie food and we cooked Jean a frozen pizza that I had bought him, enjoying the silence of the day.  
  
It was all great, if you asked me.

***

5 years before,  
12 th of July,  
Western Trost; home  
  
When I look at my scars, I don’t see shame or regret.  
I see despair. The need to feel again. And that’s it, really.  
  
I guess that the most fucked up thing is that now that I don't hurt myself is that I still struggle with feeling anything.  
  
See, I’m getting better. I know.  
I’m so much better than I used to be.  
But still, even now, I have the days when I can’t feel.  
It’s like all back to the start, to when I promised not to bleed on his floor anymore.  
All I wanna do is to grab the knife and bleed to feel.  
But it has been months.  
And I shouldn’t.  
The nights alone are the worst.  
Empty threes and fours in the morning when everything is lost and foggy and all feels distant. Unreachable. Worthless. Where I can’t grasp at anything because everything is escaping me like fog through my open fingers.  
  
But I’m not alone now.  
  
I ran my fingers along my scarred skin, looking at the boy sleeping next to me.  
_“But you know”_ , he had whispered, pecking my nose. _“I like you just as much with your cold skin.”_  
Why? When?  
How?  
How did you fall for me, Jean?  
When was it that you looked at me and saw something worthy.  
Why?  
Why do you still run your fingers against my skin and look at it as if I was beautiful.  
  
“Jean”, I whispered, touching his shoulder. “Jean, please wake up.”  
“Mm?” he answered, dragging his eyes open. “What is it?”  
“I don’t feel good”, I confessed. “Can you talk to me?”  
“Of course”, he replied, rising up a little. “Come lay down, Marco. I will listen to you.”  
I slid under the cover he held up, to the warmth that he radiated and let him close his arm around me. Feeling them anchoring me to my place, but not like restrains. More like gentle reminders of what was real. Of what was now and where was now.  
_My bed. His arms. His voice._  
“What’s wrong, Marco”, he whispered, pulling me even closer to his chest, letting me nuzzle my face to the crook of his neck.  
  
I listened to the steady pulse under my ear. Letting myself melt onto the feeling of his fingers circling my skin.  
“It’s nothing”, I whispered. “I will tell you later.”  
Maybe. I don’t know if I can.  
I don’t know if there are words for emptiness and the need of the burning feel of metal across your skin till your bleed.  
“Is there anything that I can do to help?”  
“Just stay and hold me.”  
“That I can do.”  
  
Furthermore, I could feel warmth when his lips graced my forehead in a gentle kiss.  
It’d be okay.  
Morning would come.  
Morning means hope.  
And maybe tomorrow will be a better day.  
Maybe tomorrow I can feel again.

***

Waking up six in the morning, with barely two slept hours behind,  should be illegal.  
Jean groaned as he reached over me for his phone, sighing and answering it.  
“What the fuck, Sash.”  
“Get your asses ready, we will be leaving”, I could hear her replying.  
“Leave all you want, to whatever you want, what does it have to do with me?” Jean muttered, letting his eyes fall closed. I gently jabbed him on the stomach to keep him from falling back to sleep.  
“Suit shopping, Jean”, came the reply.  
“Wait, is it already Saturday?”  
“Yes, it is, clever boy. Now, get up. We have a three hour drive ahead and I will be there in fifteen minutes. You can sleep more in the car.”  
“Fuck you”, Jean groaned. I carefully took the phone from him.  
“We will get ready Sasha. Driving to this house if a bit tricky, you can’t actually come to Hill street itself. Go to Shop street instead, and when you see a green fence with an open gate, that’s where you need to turn to. There should be other cars on the same yard, just stop there. And don’t honk, my neighbours will kill me if you do. We will be there.”  
“Woah”, Sasha breathed to my ear. “You are much more awake than your boyfriend. Did you fuck him that senseless last night?”  
“I didn’t”, I laughed. “He’s just tired. Will you find your way with that.”  
“I should, thanks. I will call this phone if I don’t”, she said before cutting the call. Alright.  
“Time to get up, Jean.”  
“Fuck this”, he whined.  
“Hey, I only slept two hours. You slept like eight”, I told him, nudging his side. “Should I put on the kettle?”  
“No time”, Jean muttered and sat up. “I will make her stop in the closest kiosk to get me coffee as a prize for waking me up.”  
“Alright”, I hummed. “I’ll go wash my face and smother myself with sunscreen. We don’t need any special clothes, right?”  
“No”, Jean yawned. “Put on something that won’t make you regret being born on this planet after three hours in small car in this weather.”  
“Noted”, I smiled. “Take any shirt you want from my wardrobe.”  
  
The cold water washed away most of last night’s marks from my face, but my eyes still seemed a bit puffy as they stared back at me in the mirror. Well, nothing that I could do about it, especially with such a short warning, so I let it be.  
Jean joined me in the toilet as I was halfway through with sunscreening myself, giving me a tired nod as he started washing his teeth. He had dressed up in shorts that we had gone to buy for him the day before since none of mine really fit him and he’d be cooked alive in jeans if the weather continued as it had been. In addition he had on a simple grey top and, of course, his dog tags. The top revealed the top of his scar but I didn’t comment on it. I knew that he knew. I guessed that he had decided that it was worth it.  
  
I finished adding the sunscreen and took my turn to decided what to wear. The same red shorts I had worn in a row for who knows how many days seemed like a good enough choice so I pulled them on with a loose white top. Maybe we both were really undressed for a boutique visit but hey - I couldn’t feel less bothered. Not in this weather, not at six something in the morning.  
I quickly washed my teeth while Jean leaned to the wall, checking something on his phone.  
“Take your pills with you, Marco”, he then said. “It’s gonna be a long day. You will have to fake eating.”  
“Thanks for pointing it out! Can you get me the red little pillbox from the fridge? I will take that one.”  
“Okay”, Jean nodded. “I will get it.”  
  
By the time I was finished with my teeth Jean returned with the box and I took it from him, stuffing it into my pocket. After checking that Jean had his phone I took my keys and we made it onto the second floor, picked our shoes and tiptoed out of the balcony door and down to the yard where Sasha was already waiting for us in her white car.  
  
“Morning”, she greeted us, rolling down her window and offering Jean a steaming cup. “I got it for you in the way because I knew you’d ask for coffee.”  
“Sometimes you aren’t a half that bad of a person”, Jean smiled and took the cup from her.  “We will take the back seats, I guess?”  
“As long as you don’t give each other hand jobs while I drive I’m okay with it”, Sasha smirked, fixing the placement of the sunglasses atop her head. “I wouldn’t dream of separating you lovers.”  
“Thanks”, Jean yawned. “Marco, take that side. I can sit behind Sasha - I have shorter legs.”  
“Aaaw Jean it’s so cute when you are caring like that. Love truly changes a man”, Sasha smiled. Jean just lazily gave her the finger before slipping onto the back seat. I followed suit, greeting Sasha and thanking her for taking us for the shopping. She just laughed as she pulled out of the parking lot.  
“Connie’s not coming?” Jean asked, looking a little more awake after a few sips of his coffee.  
“Noup”, Sasha shook her head. “He’s working at the garage today.”  
“Ah, I see”, Jean replied. “We going to the same shop that you two got your clothes from?”  
“There exactly. My friend owns the place and she knows her job”, she smiled. “Totally worth going two cities over. Not to mention they give me discounts.”  
“As if you even needed that discount”, Jean snorted.  
“I might be rich but I still enjoy a good old discount every now and then”, Sasha smirked. “Furthermore, she is so disgustingly rich that she could probably give all her clothes for free if she wanted and she wouldn’t even notice it when looking at her bank account.”  
“Oh, great, more rich people”, Jean snorted. “How come I can’t get rid of you.”  
“Don’t be such a tool, Jean” she smirked. “You love me all the same, no matter how much money I have or don’t have.”  
“Maybe”, Jean smirked. “Possibly.”  
  
We settled into a silence, Sasha turning on the car radio. It was some Swedish speaking station that I wasn’t sure I even had heard before, but it played just the same songs as any other would. I silently sat on my place, looking at Jean from the corner of my eye once he finished his coffee and started tapping away on his phone.  
  
To my surprise, my own phone buzzed in my pocket a few seconds later. I pulled it out to see the new message.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Are you okay now?  
  
I looked over to Jean, surprised. He was looking out of the window, the phone waiting on his lap.  
   
To: Kirstein Jean  
I’m better, thank you for asking.  
  
A buzz on his lap this time, and Jean picked up the phone. A half an minute or so later the buzz was back with me.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Glad to hear. Do you wanna talk about what was wrong? You looked really shaken.  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
I don’t know if you want to hear it.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Of course I do, if you just want to talk about it. I’m your boyfriend. I worry, you know?  
  
I had to bite my cheek not to smile too widely.  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
You can be surprisingly sweet, you know?  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
I don’t really know. I just couldn’t sleep and started feeling really empty. Happens sometimes.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Empty?  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Yes. Like nothing mattered and I felt that I couldn’t feel anything.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
That sounds really uncomfortable. I’m sorry to hear.  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Yeah. You know I used to self harm, right?  
  
Jean’s brows twitched as he read the message.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Yes, I know.  But you are clean now, right?  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
I’m clean. But sometimes I still get the urge to hurt myself.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
That happened last night?  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Yes. Feeling empty has always been the worst for me.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
I’m glad you woke me up then, I  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Fuck, that send too early. I wanted to say - you know that you can always wake me if you need me, right? Or if I’m not there, you can call me. I will answer.  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
That’s really kind of you.  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
I care for you, Marco. I don’t want you to be alone with these things.  
  
“Please don’t sext in my car either, boys.”  
“Oh, shut up Sasha”, Jean whined. “You are a horrible mood killer.”  
He pocketed his phone and reached for my hand, entwining his fingers with mine on the empty seat between us, giving them a squeeze.  
_I’m here_ , he seemed to say, glancing at me.  
I squeezed his back.  
_I know._

***

The rest of the car journey passed without me noticing, since the next I knew Jean was gently shaking my shoulder.  
“We are there, Marco”, he smiled at me as I opened my eyes. “So wake up.”  
“Oh”, I mumbled. “I fell asleep?”  
“You sure did”, he smiled and opened his own sea belt. “Now, come on, get up. Time to try on some suits.”  
“Ye yea”, I yawned, trying to fight down the little anxiety I could feel pooling at the bottom of my stomach.  
_Just suits, Marco. No need to freak up over it._  
_Nobody’s trying to kill you, and nobody’s trying to kill Jean._  
_Time to forget about all the freaky dreams._  
  
I opened my seatbelt and stumbled out of the car. Sasha locked it up as I closed my door, flexing her hands up high above her head. I followed her example, enjoying the feeling of my shoulders popping free from stiffness.  
“Okay, the boutique is on the other side of the street”, Sasha said, lifting her big, brown sunglasses back above her head. “They are not usually open on Saturdays but since I’m a friend they made an exception for me.”  
“That’s nice”, I smiled. “You are good friends with the owner, then?”  
“Yep, she’s one of my best friends”, Sasha smiled. “Okay boys, follow me.”  
  
Jean offered me his hand and I took it as we followed Sasha down the sun beaten street. It was a pretty street with a lot of flower arrangements, and clearly a bit richer one based on the boutiques they had one after another. It was the third that Sasha opened the door to, one with a beautiful wedding dress set up on its window.  
“We are going here”, Sasha informed. “I will see if my friends are already ready”, she smiled, stepping into the shop. We followed her, Jean first through the small door to the brightly light room.  
  
“Sasha! Here!” a girlish voice shouted just as the door closed behind me.  
Jean froze on his steps, making me bump into him. A shocked expression was overtaking his features as I glanced up to his face, his eyes locked onto something, unmoving.  
I followed his gaze and understood perfectly why.  
It couldn’t be, no.  
I had to be asleep, still.  
I had to be.  
  
But the terror I felt was just too real.  
  
“Hello! Thanks for having us over”, Sasha laughed, completely unaware of our situation behind her back. “This is Marco and this is Jean. The blond one with bad undercut is Jean”, she continued, pointing us out to the two women in front of the register, before turning to us and smiling.  
“Marco, Jean - meet Krista and Ymir. Ymir’s the one with freckles.”  
I couldn’t care less about freckles and the other woman. My gaze was stolen by the smaller girl whose shoulder she had wrapped her arms around. The smile rising to the tiny blonde’s face at the sound of our names was enough proof for me.  
“It’s nice to finally meet you”, she smiled. “Marco. Jean. Welcome to my home.”  
  
She was the woman of my dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Förlåt me - forgive me.] She's being pretty playful tho.


	26. Wedding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Jean, look at me.”  
> Dark lashed, brown brown eyes.  
> Dots of sepia like colour spill from artist’s brush.  
> An ocean of constellations right on his skin.  
> “Marco.”  
> “Yes, Jean. It’s me.”  
> Why is it so dull. Why can’t I see his freckles well.  
> Why is it so hard to see.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned in the chapter [[X]](https://youtu.be/2yMyor-Sd1Q)  
> (You might want to listen to it while reading the scene)

There was a tall woman in a well fitted black suit with flower patters by its hem, looking at us sternly with brown eyes that adorned her slim, freckled features. But it wasn't her that I was staring at but the girl whose shoulders she was keeping her hands on.  
  
It was _her._  
Blonde hair like rays of the sun,  
milk white skin and those eyes like ice.  
  
"It’s nice to finally meet you", she said in a voice that I knew by heart. With a voice that danced like the wind on the trees and sounded like small bells in summer breeze, dipped in blood and gleaming like silver in the moonlight.  
"Marco. Jean. Welcome to my home."  
  
Marco. How’s Marco taking this?  
A quick look back told me enough. His eyes were blown open and I could see the colour draining from his already washed out features. But he seemed to be fine enough, as he noticed my look and glanced back at me.  
_Be careful._  
  
“So blue three piece suits for the gents?”  
Huh?  
“Yes, like the ones we picked last time. You wanted to take measurements, right?”  
“That’s correct. I’d also like to have them trying on a few clothes so we see that the model will fit them both.”  
Wait a second now. That’s it? No fight? Nothing?  
  
I glanced back to Marco again, confusion just as clear on his features as our eyes met. He took a step forward and leaned to whisper in my ear.  
_Maybe she doesn’t want to make a number out of it in front of Sasha_ , he breathed.  
_Could be_ , I told him, craning my neck to whisper to him. _Or she’s planning._  
_Planning what, Jean?_  
_I don’t know. Does she really want to kill us?_  
_I sure hope not._  
  
“Jean?”  
“Eh, what?”  
“Come here so Ymir can measure you”, Sasha sighed, signalling us to come closer with the twist of her finger. “Marco, Krista will take you. Just come here, they don’t bite.”  
Well, they might not bite, but one of them kills people with silver daggers in their dreams.  
“Alright, I will be right there”, Marco replied from next to me, giving my shoulder a squeeze before stepping past me on the narrow space.  
_I’ll be fine_ , he smiled.  
_Stay safe_ , I hoped.  
Took the steps after him.  
  
The woman, Ymir I guess, she was tall. Tall and kind of lanky and sharp on her features like I was.  
“Sup”, she nodded at me as I came to a stop by her in middle of the room, a measuring tape already bundled in her short nailed, but well manicured hands.  
“Name’s Ymir. Casual asshole when situation calls for it, but I promise not to poke your balls with pins _unless_ you try to lay your fingers on my wife.”  
“Jean”, I replied, cautiously offering my hand. “Really gay for that other freckles right there so no need to worry about your wife.”  
“Oh, I like you”, she smirked, grabbing my hand on death grip. A very _cold_ death grip. “Now,  I’m going to measure you. Which means that you stay put unless I tell you to move somehow. When I do tell you to move somehow, you move exactly as I told you to do. Understood?”  
Icy cold digits pressing harder against my warm ones.  
“Yes, ma’am. It’s clear.”  
There’s no mistaking it really.  
“Good”, she replied, loosening her grip. “Now stand with your back straight and legs at hip wide. I’m gonna start from your back.”  
“Alright.”  
She’s a vampire.  
  
So. Situation check:  
Two vampires. Two humans. One _something._  
  
My eye was met with icy blue one and a rising blonde eyebrow.  
_“I don’t know what you are Jean.”_  
_“I am human.”_  
_“Are you?”_  
Huh?  
Rosy lips pulled into an askew smile and she turned back round.  
What... was that.  
  
_Listen_ , a hiss at my ear, fingers on my spine. _Don’t make a scene, Jean._  
“Lift your hand”, the voice then said, louder. “A little higher, that’s good. Sasha - we got a few new dresses we wanted to show you.”  
“Oh, what kind?” Sasha smiled, turning round towards us. I could see Marco’s lips forming a word, a word I couldn’t read. To the woman in front of him and she nodded, wrapping her measuring tape around Marco’s wrist. A movement of mouth and two pairs of eyes turning to me.  
“Autumn kind”, Ymir said next to me, her fingers touching my elbow, holding it as she rolled the line against my arm. “There’s one wonderful cotton one with flaming orange leaf details. You should try it on.”  
“Ooh”, Sasha nodded. “It sounds pretty. The usual room?”  
“And the usual booth. Come to show it to us once you get it on - we will probably have to make few adjustments because you have such a small waist, but I believe it’d be worth it.”  
“Are you trying you sell me another dress”, Sasha laughed. “I’m afraid I only thought about these boys today.”  
“Oh no no, we were thinking about using you as catalogue girl again if you don’t mind”, a voice cut in. Krista. “Since you did so well last time.”  
“Well, then”, Sasha sighed, rising her hands dramatically. “You got me there. I will try it on.”  
“Take the black shoes with it.”  
“Will will, they at the usual place?”  
“Should be”, Ymir replied, on my wrist now. “You have such a lean friend. It’s good you came for measurements, it’s so easy to ruin the appeal by getting someone this slim a normally cut jacket - it’d just look baggy.”  
“See”, Sasha said, pointing at me. “I told you that you are skinnier than fuck.”  
“Glad you reminded me about why I love you, Sash.”  
“Ooh, he’s mad”, Sasha smirked. “Okay, I’ll pull on the dress.”  
Ymir gave her a wordless nod, continuing her measuring -now from my shoulder to neck, then lifting my hands to get the line round my chest. Silently, all the way until the door had safely clicked closed after Sasha.  
Three more seconds of silence.  
Five.  
Ten. Eleven.  
  
“Do I have to be the one to lift the fucking cat to the table to check if it has balls or not?” Ymir sighed, dropping down to her knees and  rounding my thigh. “We all know we need to talk about it anyway.”  
“Well”, Krista replied, hesitant. “We don’t have much time like this.”  
“True”, Ymir mumbled. “But why the hell does this guy know about us?”  
A blaming finger pointed at me.  
“The name’s still Jean”, I replied. “And your wife is a persistent visitor of my dreams.”  
A shared gaze between them.  
“Is he the...?”  
“Yes.”  
“Oh”, Ymir replied. “I see.”  
“I have to ask this”, Marco said, clearing his throat. “But do I need to ready myself in case you try to kill us again?”  
“I don’t do that outside dreams”, Krista replied, patting Marco’s hand like he was some kind of a dog. “So don’t worry about me. Worry about your friend realising.”  
_Historia. It means History._  
“Well, better this way.”  
_Your name is Historia._  
“Historia.”  
  
Three pairs of eyes immediately on mine. Two of surprise, one of interest.  
“Oh”, Krista, Historia, she smiled. “You are starting to remember. But not now, Jean. Now is not a good time for that.”  
“Remember?”  
“I told you, once in a dream”, she replied. “A lot about me. A lot about you. But you had to forget it. Forget what I said, forget what I did, forget what I asked. But it’s coming back to you, isn’t it?”  
“You asked me something?”  
“I did”, she replied with a nod, whirling round Marco for next measurements. “And I will tell you again. You and Marco both. But not now.”  
“Then when?” I asked. Krista smiled. Historia smiled.  
There was a difference in those smiles.  
“At Blue Moon.”  
  
_Blue Moon?_ I wanted to ask, but there was a voice faster than mine.  
“She’s coming back”, Ymir murmured. “Drop the topic. You are humans now. We are humans now. In front of her, we are all normal. Understood?”  
  
A nod. Another. My nod.  
A footsteps coming closer and Ymir stepping away.  
“How does it look?” Sasha asked, whirling into the room, black heels letting out a click on each step.  
Maybe she was told to wear them so she couldn’t sneak on us, I thought.  
“It looks amazing”, Ymir told her, looking at the innocent lamb. Almost like a prey. “Let me write up your friend’s size and I will take it with you after that.”  
“Alright”, Sasha chirped, walking closer to us. “What do you think, Jean?”  
“It’s lovely”, I smiled, wanting to tell her: _run_. But I couldn’t. “Orange suits you. Brings out your hair.”  
“Awww, how sweet of you”, Sasha laughed. That innocent laugh of the only one who doesn’t know in the room.  “But Jean, how are you feeling?”  
“Me? I’m all fine, why?” I asked, straightening myself. No need to worry her, not over me.  
“You look a little pale, that’s all”, she shrugged. “I just noticed.”  
“Must be the lack of sleep”, I pondered. “Since I only caught a few hours. I’m honestly fine - I will sit down for a while and it should fix it.”  
  
“I am finished with Marco”, Krista informed then, turning to Sasha, smiling. “I will take them to Blue Moon.”  
“Ooh”, Sasha nodded, excitement in her voice. “Sounds like a good idea.”  
“Would you like coffee once you and Ymir are done?”  
“No thank you”, Sasha shook her head. “But amaze them.”  
“Will do”, Krista laughed and gave Sasha a small salute. “See you there then. Jean, Marco - follow me.”  
  
A shared a look with Marco and he shrugged his shoulders. I guessed he was none the wiser as we stepped after the petite woman, through the door to a flight of stairs behind the desk the two of them first stood by.  
“Sorry, what’s the ‘Blue Moon’?” Marco asked her as we followed her.  
“Oh, sorry”, Krista apologized. “It’s the name of our home.”  
“Blue Moon?” I asked. “That’s an unusual name.”  
“Yes”, she confirmed. “Even I don’t know why it was that. It was on the papers when we bought the house. We liked it, so we keep calling it by it.”  
  
She unlocked the door at the end of the stairs, keeping it open for us to step in. Slowly, we did, into a brightly decorated little hallway.  
“Please, leave your shoes here”, she nodded towards a wooden shoe rack. “You might recognize where I’m taking you, Jean. This way”, she then said, pulling open one of the two doors in front of her.  
And yes, I sure as hell recognized those mint green kitchen cupboards and cream walls.  
“Did you take me to your home in my dream?”  
“Well, you barged into mine first”, she replied as she stepped into the room,  twisting her hair into a lazy bun with a hair tie she had kept around her wrist. “And I couldn’t come up with a better place.”  
  
A hand was placed on my shoulder. Marco.  
“What’s going on, Jean? More of the dreams?”  
“I’m not sure”, I replied, lifting my hand to cover his. “I don’t really remember this one. Just parts and parts. Like that tick of the clock.”  
“Oh, it’s the grandfather clock on the living room, really loud, that thing”, Krista grimaced. “Come, sit down. I will make you coffee. Still not allergic to hazelnuts, Jean?”  
“Did... we talk about that?” I asked her. She shrugged lazily, pulling out a coffee pot and two tin boxes, quickly filling the pot with water before turning on the stove.  
“I made you coffee in the dream”, she then said. “I have hazelnut spiced coffee. I wanted to know if you are allergic to it.”  
“You drank coffee in a dream?” Marco asked, looking from me to Krista. Historia. “And you didn’t try to kill him?”  
“I killed you two in the dreams for a good reason”, she answered, hitting the smaller tin box back to the table a bit too hard. “But all for nothing, it seems.”  
“All for nothing?” I asked. “You actually had a point with that? But we failed you?”  
“Yes”, she breathed out, adding one more spoonful of coffee to the pot. She took her time to push those boxes back to the shelf that was almost too high for her. “Sit down, boys.”  
It wasn’t a suggestion, but an order. That much was clear on her tone.  
  
So we walked past her and sat down.  
To the red chairs like blood, around that glass table.  
Table that I recognized but did not remember.  
Tick. Tock. Tick tock tick.  
Historia, Historia, Historia.  
_“My name is Historia.”_  
_“Historia?”_  
_“Means history. Pretty fitting, isn’t it?”_  
  
“Historia.”  
“Mm?”  
“Is that your real name?”  
Krista hummed low, looking over to us.  
“You could say so”, she said. “Historia. Krista. Amelia. Minnie. Even Jeanne. They are all me.”  
“Aliases?” Marco asked, a realisation on his face. “Names you changed so people wouldn’t find out about you? Like vampires do?”  
“Yes.” A nod. “But in a sense, I guess Historia is the real me. My first ever name.”  
“What are you, Historia?” I asked. “Why are you different?”  
“Curious”, she replied, leaning her thin arms to the counter. “I could have asked you the same. But unlike me, you already know your reply.”  
“From the dream?”  
“From the dream.”  
“I can’t remember.”  
“Smell the coffee, Jean”, she laughed. “Smell it, really smell it. They say that your sense of scent is tied to your memories the most.”  
  
So I breathed in the scent, letting it linger in. Thinking about it the hardest I could.  
  
Roasted hazelnuts and coffee beans,  
dusty inside air and all the scents hidden in it.  
The colour of Marco’s questioning eyes.  
_“I’m assuming he will kill you.”_  
_“He?”_  
_“The tar man.”_  
_“Marco?”_  
  
No, no.  
Wrong.  
Blue eyes,  
and the smile of a mother.  
  
A mother.  
_“But you know him somehow, don’t you?”_  
_“He’s one of my children.”_  
  
“Oh”, I whispered.  
Tick. Tock.  
     Tock. Tick.  
Tick. Tack.  
“You are their mother.”  
                                  Tick tock tick.  
                 Tock tick tock.  
                        Tick.  
                        Tock.  
“Whose mother, Jean?”  
  
Chocolate eyes flaring red on sunlight.  
              Knife on knife, flash of white.  
                                    Teeth.  
                                           Bite.  
“Vampires’. Human born vampires’ like Marco.”  
Smile.  
Rose petal, carnations in winter mornings.  
            Tar on avocado clouds.  
Black  
  black  
     pebbles.  
                                                                 _Marco._  
  
  
  
_A chuckle._  
_" Yeah.”_  
_Another._  
_“ Trost bridge is where I died."_  
_Chuckle._  
_Chucklechuckle._  
_Please don’t laugh about it, Marco._  
  
_“I just couldn’t sleep and started feeling really empty.“_  
_“Empty?”_  
_“Yes. Like nothing mattered.”_  
_Please don’t cry, I’m here._  
  
_A mossy stone under my feet, so high up._  
_I jump down, hoping my legs will break so I don’t have to go home._  
_They don’t._  
  
_“I died.”_  
_“Died._  
_“died.”_  
_“I’m a vampire, Jean”_  
  
_Brown eyes gazing up to me, hidden by the mess of dark hair and the shadow of her hood, but I can still see the way they gleam as her mouth twists with interest._  
  
_Snowflakes on my tongue,_  
_I’m so thirsty and they won’t make me any less so_  
_But I don’t know what else to do, so I catch another, then another._  
  
_Devouring white flakes as my life depended on it. It probably did,_  
  
“Jean. _Jean_.”  
Cold fingers  
_I like you too_  
    “Jean. Jean Can you hear me?”  
“Jean. Concentrate on my hands.”  
Cold squeeze.  
There really are fingers round mine.  
Mine?  
“Jean.”  
That’s another voice.  
“Jean, come back. You can’t go there awake.”  
There? To _where_?  
“Jean.”  
I like this voice.  
“Jean, look at me.”  
Dark lashed, brown brown eyes.  
Dots of sepia like colour spill from artist’s brush.  
An ocean of constellations right on his skin.  
“Marco.”  
“Yes, Jean. It’s me.”  
Why is it so dull. Why can’t I see his freckles well.  
Why is it so hard to see.  
  
“Jean. What happened on the balcony?”  
“Balcony?”  
“Yes. You and me, on a balcony. It was cloudy.”  
_Cold cheeks under my fingertips._  
_A yank forward,_  
_soft coldness._  
_My lips. His lips._  
“We kissed.”  
“Yes. What’s your name?”  
“Marco.”  
“No, your name.”  
“Mine?”  
“Yours.”  
“Jean?”  
“Yes.”  
  
Tick. Tock.  
  
“What’s happening?”  
“You are dreaming, Jean.”  
“But you aren’t asleep.”  
“Snap out of it. Get out of my head, Jean.”  
“No, I think he’s in mine.”  
  
_Foggy island roads_  
_amber eyes_  
_freckles and sharp smile_  
_amber eyes and sharp face_  
_highlands and city streets_  
_the horizon is golden and you are painting green clouds_  
_twisted ponytails and resting bitchface_  
_amber eyes_  
_that’s me_  
_fog_  
_wooden hut with bones on the windowsill_  
_“you are the witch, aren’t you?”_  
_“you aren’t alive, are you?”_  
_“I asked you first”_  
_“it doesn’t matter”_  
  
_Yellows and browns knitting together in sunlight_  
_he leans closer and closer and his lips are so warm they almost burn_  
_mint chocolate_  
_his favourite_  
  
_black pebbles on my hand_  
_black pebbles on his hand_  
_he’s not he’s not he’s not_  
  
_“give me your blood”_  
_“my blood?”_  
_“yes.”_  
_“why?”_  
_“well, I am a witch”_  
  
_a grave covered in wilted flowers, white wooden cross with a replaceable name standing tall_  
_I ask my father how he’s doing_  
_the grave never replies, not even when I light the candle._  
_I miss his voice terribly._  
  
_a warmth on my skin and the rain of red_  
_sting_  
_worthless, but alive_  
_“I wanna live with you forever”_  
_I got drunk on her laughter,_  
_such animalistic guffaws_  
  
_hitch of his breath_  
_I love you._  
_I love you._  
_I really do love you._  
  
“I’m sorry about this.”  
A sharp sound of skin on skin,  
_slap_.  
  
I blinked.  
My cheek was on fire.  
Historia stood with her hand still half in the air, ready for action.  
I guessed the fire on my cheek had the shape of her fingers and palm.  
“You here, Jean?”  
“I... guess?”  
“Guessing is not enough”, Historia informed. “State your name.”  
“Jean.” A look. Oh. “Jean Kirstein.”  
“Age.”  
“Twenty.”  
“Who is this?”  
“Marco Bott. My boyfriend. A vampire.”  
“And who am I?”  
“Historia. Vampire. You go by Krista.”  
“Good”, she sighed, lowering her hand. “Don’t you ever, ever try to do that again, Jean Kirstein.”  
“Do what again?”  
  
Marco and Historia exchanged a look.  
Marco nodded.  
“I don’t know what you did Jean”, he said. “But you walked into our heads like she”, a pointed finger to Historia, “does in our dreams. But we weren’t asleep Jean.”  
“It looked like you were in some kind of hypnosis”, Historia added. “You scared us. For several reasons.”  
“Yeah, you wouldn’t answer when we called to you”, Marco nodded. “You did, but then you disappeared again and started throwing things across our minds. That was uncomfortable.”  
“Was it fun to feel like me for a moment?” Historia asked. “Actually, don’t tell me. Drink your coffee. No don’t. I will give you juice instead. Juice is good.”  
  
She turned round, yanking open the red retro fridge, giving me a small juice box.  
Orange, pineapple and mango, it said.  
I ripped open the wrapper, plucked the straw into its place.  
It tasted like life and sunlight on my tongue.  
  
“Jessus”, I breathed out. “That was... something.”  
“What happened for you?” Historia asked, leaning her shoulder to the fridge now. “Just now. What were you experiencing.”  
“I”, I started, but I didn’t know. “I tried to remember. And then I just... it was a haze. It’s like I wasn’t me. Like I wasn’t here.”  
“Anything else?”  
“I saw these thoughts. No, I didn’t _see_ them, I lived them. But they weren’t mine. But I thought they were. I thought that we were I and I was... we. Does that... make sense?”  
“No”, she shook her head. “And yes. I get your point but I don’t understand. I don’t know how you did it, hell I don’t know what you did. But don’t. Just don’t do it again.”  
“Jean”, Marco murmured, his fingers hesitantly touching mine. “Your heart was going crazy. I was scared for you.”  
“It was?” I asked, raising my other hand to my chest. It felt normal.  
“I have to ask you”, he continued, slowly circling his fingers round mine. “If you lived through what you saw, did you see the knife?”  
A worried eyes on mine.  
“A knife”, I muttered. “Yes. I’m sorry.”  
“It could have been worse”, Marco muttered, looking down. “Well, now you know I guess.”  
  
What was I supposed to say.  
“I don’t know what happened”, I said. “But... a witch?” I asked, turned towards Historia.  
“Yes”, she replied. “When I met her, Ymir was a witch.”  
“That seemed like a very long time ago.”  
“It certainly was long ago”, she replied blankly. “For a human.”  
“Oh”, I replied. “It must not be so long ago for you, then.”  
“Maybe not”, she shrugged. “But that’s past the point.”  
  
Two pairs of eyes on me.  
I really earned some gazes today.  
“I told you that I don’t know what happened.”  
“That’s not it, really”, Historia said. “I am busy wondering what you are.”  
Marco didn’t say a word as I looked at him, just shrugged his shoulders a little.  
“What I still don’t understand”, Historia continued. “Is that you seem human.”  
“I am human.”  
“Why can you do what I can do, then?” she questioned. “Why can you do it awake?”  
“I don’t know what happened”, I muttered. “I don’t know what I did. If I even did anything.”  
  
Historia hummed, turning around. To the coffee pot, moved aside from the stove at some point. I don’t know when.  
She poured it down the drain.  
“If Sasha asks”, she then said. “You loved my coffee and it had a bit of hazelnut flavour, and I served it with cream.”  
“I understand”, I replied.  
“You remember what I told you in the dream now?”  
“I think that I do.”  
“Tell it to your boyfriend later on, then”, she said, tipping her head towards the door. “Because the girls are coming, and we don’t talk about it in front of Sasha.”  
“Naturally”, I replied. “Since we are normal.”  
“Yes”, she nodded. “Normal.”  
  
Since when did my life become such a bunch of lies?  
Lie to yourself.  
Lie to your friends.  
Lie to Mark.  
Lie to your mother.  
Lie to your boyfriend.  
Lie to the passer by.  
Lie to the world.  
  
Father would be disappointed.  
Or maybe not, since it was a lie to protect them.  
  
A small knock on the door before a twist of key and bubbling laughter.  
“Are you ready boys?” Sasha chirped, kicking off her shoes based on the noise before she appeared to the door frame, a dazzling smile on her face. “Oo, yes it seems like you had your coffee already, that’s good.”  
“Yes, we did”, Historia smiled, waving her hand at Ymir who looked at her from behind Sasha.  
“I, naturally”, Marco added with a laugh, “just had water as always.”  
“I see I see”, Sasha nodded. Ymir disappeared from behind her, pulling open the other door by the sound of it. Sasha looked at me, a little confused. “Why are you drinking a juice, Jean?”  
“Ah”, I replied, looking down at the juice box in my hands. “You mentioned that I was a little pale? Marco noted that I didn’t eat enough breakfast so it could be because my blood sugar was down.”  
What a great lie. Marco nodded at my story and Sasha nodded, too.  
“You feeling better now, then?”  
“Yep”, I replied. “Are we leaving?”  
“I was thinking so, yes”, Sasha nodded. “Ymir is just getting me something from the other room. Are you guys ready?”  
“We are”, Historia nodded. “They left the choosing of cuff link design up to me.”  
“Probably a good idea”, Sasha hummed cheerfully. “Jean doesn’t have much of fashion sense.”  
“Har har to you too”, I muttered. “Sorry I can’t tell apart your preferred expensive designers whose clothes I could never afford.”  
“Well, luckily you have me”, she smirked, then looked up to Historia. “Will their suits be identical?”  
“No”, she shook her head. “The same suit with a different cut. There will also be slight differences in their shirts and vests - little details there and there. But they will just enhance each other, believe me.”  
“I trust you and Ymir’s clothing decisions any day”, Sasha nodded. “Finish your juice, Jean.”  
  
I did, slurping down what little was left at the bottom of the box as Ymir returned with a small satin bag on her hands.  
“All the way from Germany”, she said, dropping it to Sasha’s hand. “Like you asked for.”  
“Thank you so much”, Sasha smiled. “Were there any problems with it?”  
“None whatsoever”, she smirked. “I told you I know the silversmith personally. The only problem, really, was getting a hold of her since she likes hiding from her phone. But she was really pleased to know you like her work so much, saying it was an honour to do your rings.”  
“Heh, I love her works”, Sasha smiled. “The way she bends metal, you’d think she had done it for hundreds of years and not just a few.”  
“Well, that’s what you call natural talent, I guess”, Ymir smiled, giving her wife a look over Sasha.  
Oh, alright. I guess the silversmith is a vampire, too. A German vampire.  
“Are those your wedding rings?” Marco asked, smiling politely. Sasha nodded.  
“Yes. It’s kind of a special order”, she smiled, pressing the bag against her chest. “Has Jean told you that Connie lost his family at a young age?”  
Marco shook his head, looking sad.  
“No, he hasn’t told me. I’m sorry to hear about it.”  
“I didn’t think it was my story to tell”, I pointed out, looking over at Sasha. “Connie can tell it himself when he wants to.”  
“I understand”, Sasha nodded. “Well, you see Marco. I have been dating Connie since I was fourteen. His mother told me that if I marry him, I will get the ring she had”, she said, dropping her eyes. “And I know Connie wanted me to have it. But his... home burned down when we were sixteen. With his family. Naturally, no such thing as a small ring was saved from such a fire. Nothing could be saved, really.”  
  
The room grew silent for a moment. Marco looked lost at what to say - I knew the feeling. What else can you say than ‘I’m sorry to hear’? And he had already said it.  
I, naturally, knew the story. I knew the pain of it, for Connie, for Sasha and for me. We all loved his family. Connie the most, of course. It was his tragedy, and we knew it. We were there to see him through it.  
I lowered my eyes to the ground as I saw Ymir set her hand on Sasha shoulder and her smiling up to the taller girl. Sasha was strong. She was there to support Connie when he needed her, really. I, in the other hand? I was too weak to really do it.  
  
“So, you know”, Sasha continued, then. “I know I couldn’t give him back the ring he had been promised and I could never find one similar. It was really old, you see. A family tradition, really. Going from mother to son, generation after generation. I knew how sad he was about losing that so... well, I had a picture”, she smiled. “Of the ring, a good picture. I decided to get him a new one. But it’s hard to find someone with that kind of skills in silver smithery now. I told these two about my plan and they told me about their friend. A really talented, young artist. She promised to do the rings for us and well, here they are”, she smiled, rising the bag. “She made two, both based on the picture.”  
“That sounds really nice”, Marco nodded. “Does Connie know about it?”  
“He knows”, Sasha nodded. “I mean... I asked him about it. I couldn’t do it behind his back because it’s his family and his traditions. I asked if he’d want a ring like the one his mother had if I could get my hands on one. He said that he’d love it, even tho it wouldn’t be the same, naturally. He even helped me to sketch out the parts missing in the picture from his memory. But I added a bit of our story into them”, she smiled, smirking a little. “You see, the original ring was gold, but I didn’t want to do just a repetition of that. Because we two bought matching silver necklaces at one point when we were dating - the first matching thing we ever really got. They are melted into part of the rings.”  
“That’s wonderful”, Marco smiled, softly. “It sounds very lovely.”  
“That’s really nice”, I said too. “I had no idea you were doing that.”  
“Well”, Sasha shrugged. “It hadn’t come up. But now you know. And thank you, both. You ready, Jean?”  
“As ready I can be”, I replied. “Where should I put this?”  
“Oh, just leave it at the table”, Krista replied. “I will recycle it later. But now - it was lovely to have you over again, Sasha, and it was nice meeting you, Jean, Marco.”  
“Thank you for a thousand time for your help with the wedding, again”, Sasha smiled. “I’d be lost without you.”  
“Well, I sincerely hope these are the last clothes you need from us for the wedding”, Krista laughed. “It’ll be too late to order anything later on.”  
“Last ones, I promise”, Sasha smiled. “Thank you so much for making time for us today.”  
“No need to be so formal, chestnut”, Ymir informed and knocked her fingers on Sasha’s head. “We owe you anyway.”  
“No, you really don’t”, Sasha laughed. “But well, we will leave you to enjoy your weekend now. Lets go, boys.”  
“Alright”, I replied, standing up. Marco followed sue, nodding politely at Ymir and Historia.  
  
We pulled our shoes on mostly in silence, what with Krista just making sure that we could see ourselves out without her, which Sasha promised to be able to do and told her she will remember to check that the boutique door will be locked. Krista thanked her with a smile, then looked over to me as Sasha pushed the door open.  
“Well, then - I will see you boys again at the wedding”, she nodded. “Safe travel.”  
“Thank you, see you!” Sasha smiled and I murmured a thanks as Marco nodded at the couple, slipping past Sasha to the the staircase. Sasha stepped out the last, pushing the door back closed after a last ‘bye’, proceeding to descent the stairs behind us.  
  
As we had walked through the boutique and out of the door (that Sasha remember to check to be locked), she looked up to as.  
“Well, those were my friends”, she smiled. “I hope you got along fine.”  
“They were... nice”, I mumbled. “I don’t really know them yet but they seem nice. When did you meet?”  
“A few years back”, Sasha smiled. “When they opened their bouquet. They looked for people to model for their catalogue and I applied.”  
“Oh, the modelling thing you did in the past”, I nodded. “I remember that one.”  
“Yeah, I tried to get you to apply, too.”  
“Meh”, I shook my head. “I wouldn’t have done well.”  
“I think they disagree”, Sasha laughed. “Ymir was wondering if either of you would be usable for next catalogue.”  
“Why don’t they use professional models?” Marco asker, wonder in his voice. “Is it their policy?”  
“Krista doesn’t want to use professional models”, Sasha hummed. “She said she doesn’t like the industry. So they pick up normal people who they find fitting, no matter your height or shape. You see, me? I’m too curvy and short to be actual model. Or well, just and just tall enough I guess, but definitely too curvy.”  
“I see”, Marco nodded. “Do you happen to have any of their catalogues? I’d be interested in seeing it.”  
“Sure, I have a few of all that I am in”, Sasha nodded. “Why, thought?”  
“I’m interested in seeing what kind of pictures they selected”, Marco smiled. “I’ve been wondering about starting photography more seriously but I have no experience with model shoots. I think I could learn a lot from catalogue like that.”  
“Oh, I see. That sounds wonderful”, Sasha smiled. “I didn’t know that you photograph.”  
“I don’t talk about it much”, Marco shrugged. “It’s just a hobby.”  
“You are really good in that ‘just a hobby’”, I commented. “He gave me a printed photography book from his travel to Hungary - it’s fantastic.”  
“Can I see that someday?” Sasha asked. “If you are okay with it, Marco.”  
“Of course, if you want to”, Marco nodded. “But Jean owns the only copy.”  
“I can lend it to her”, I offered. “I didn’t know that you were thinking about photography more seriously though.”  
“You inspired me to, to be honest”, Marco admitted. “When you said that my pictures were really good. I thought, hell, I’ve quit my last school anyway, maybe photography is something I could study instead.”  
“What did you use to study?” Sasha asked.  
“I was a med student”, Marco replied. “Had to quit due severe allergies I did not know I even had before the school. “  
“That’s a shame”, she nodded. She looked at Marco closely, very closely. Marco rose his eyebrows under the intensive stare.  
“Say, Marco”, she started. “What’s your surname, again?”  
“Bott?” Marco replied. “Why?”  
“Ah, it’s nothing then”, Sasha replied, shaking her head. “I thought you reminded me of someone, but wrong surname. Sorry sorry.”  
“It’s okay”, Marco smiled. “That happens.”  
“Mm”, Sasha replied. “But if you really are interested in photography, would you like to take pictures at the wedding? We do have a photographer coming, but she won’t be there during morning preparations or the back rooms in general. It’d be lovely to see someone else’s pictures of the ceremony, too, since everyone looks at same things differently. What do you say?”  
“Oh, uh that’s”, Marco stammered. “I might not be good enough-”  
“Hogwash”, Sasha laughed. “You are definitely good enough. Jean wouldn’t say that you are good if you weren’t. He doesn’t do empty praise or words, I know that boy. He’s rather painfully straightforward sometimes.”  
“Hey now, don’t be rude”, I muttered. “I’m not that straightforward.”  
“You truly are tho”, Sasha shrugged, unlocking her car and pulling open the door. “Ready to get into the hot car hell for another few hours, then?”  
“No more places we need to visit?” I asked. Sasha shook her head.  
“Not today, since you both said you’d wear your own shoes. Or do you have somewhere you need to visit?”  
“I don’t have anything”, Marco shrugged. “What about you, Jean?”  
There was buzz against my thigh before I could reply.  
“Excuse me for a second”, I said, fishing out my phone. “Somebody is calling me.”  
  
I glanced at the screen.  
Well, that’s a surprise.  
“Who is it?” Sasha asked, dropping the sunglasses to her nose as I wiped the call open.  
“Mother”, I both replied and greeted. Marco’s eyes flew to mine, just as surprised as I felt.  
  
The line was silent for a while.  
“Jean”, she then said. “I was wrong. We need to talk.”

***

We dropped at Sasha’s first, just long enough to get Marco those catalogues he wanted to see. Then they dropped me to a café at the centre.  
_Do you want either one of us with you, Jean?_ Sasha had asked me, giving me a worried look through the rear-view mirror. _It’s no problem, you know that, right?_  
_No thank you,_ I refused. _This is something I need to do alone. It’s a problem between her and me._  
_Call me if you need me_ , Marco worried.  
_Of course,_ I replied, leaning in to give him a peck on the lips before unbuckling my seat belt. _Well, see you two later. Safe drive!_ I said, and closed the door.  
  
Now, here I am. Alone in the café, a mocha paid with money I borrowed from Sasha in front of me.  
Staring at my mother who was still standing at the counter, getting her own order. Iced coffee with tiramisu flavouring. With a straw, thank you.  
That’s what she always ordered here, after all, and this was the table we always sat at if it was empty.  
She had her drink in hand now, and her face was calm as she walked closer. Brown hair in a bun on her neck, red summer dress and black bolero and the shoes dad bought her years ago. The ones she had gotten fixed over and over at the local shoemaker. I understood, really. It was the last birthday present he ever got her.  
Yet it hurt to look at, a little. The shoes he got her, dress of the colour he always said to fit mum the best. Her hair still cut the same way it was back then, her wedding ring still on her finger. She probably never got over losing him, really. I knew her well enough to know it.  
She was scared of being left alone. She was scared of losing her family.  
All she had left was me.  
And I was dying.  
  
“Hi”, she greeted, sitting down to the chair opposite of mine. She looked tired. “How have you been, Jean?”  
“Fine”, I replied. “As I said, I was getting measured for a suit for Sasha’s wedding.”  
“That’s soon, isn’t it”, she smiled. “I’m glad for her and Connie.”  
“Yeah.”  
  
We looked at each other silently. The click clop of the waiters shoes as she walked past us seemed louder than it should have, and mother dropped her eyes down as she took a sip of her drink.  
“I’m sorry, Jean”, she then said.  “In my selfishness, I have wronged you. I apologize.”  
“Apologizing isn’t enough, mum”, I sighed. Maybe it was good that our mother tongue was such a small minority here. It made it less awkward to talk about it all in public. “You know that.”  
“I know”, she nodded. “So, lets talk.”  
“Lets”, I nodded back her. “I want to apologize, too. I know I am putting you into a bad place - I know. I know that you are scared of losing me.”  
“Naturally”, she admitted. “No mother should have to bury her child.”  
“No child wants to be buried by his parents”, I replied. “But some children will have no choice.”  
“I know”, she whispered. It seemed there was no more voice to her. “And I understand now what a heavy weight I have made you carry all this time.”  
“I’m not the easiest kid, I know”, I mumbled. “But I can’t live with you refusing to talk about my condition. I want to be able to talk to you. If I am going to die young, I want to die knowing I lived well, knowing that I was loved and knowing that I have made it the easiest I can for those who care about me.”  
“Oh sweetheart”, mum choked, clearing her throat before continuing. I could still hear the strain on it telling me she wanted to cry. “You should not worry about that, but live your life to the fullest.”  
“But I worry”, I replied. “And I can’t stop worrying. I don’t know how long I am going to live, but we both know what the doctors say.”  
“Five years”, she replied. “Five years if they don’t find anything.”  
“Yeah”, I nodded. “So that’s what we are aiming for.”  
“Aiming for”, she repeated. “Shouldn’t... I guess it’s not like you to hope too much.”  
“You know me well.”  
“Well, I’m your mother.”  
  
We smiled, maybe a little strained but honest.  
The click clop didn’t sound too loud anymore as the waiter passed us again.  
“So”, mother continued then. “We will talk about this. We will talk about your worries and plans.”  
“That’d be ideal, yes.”  
“But what do you want to do?” she asked. “Go abroad? Write a will? Visit a brothel? Write a book?”  
“I think I will skip the book and that brothel”, I hummed. “But writing a will, sure I guess. At some point. You should help me to make it legal.”  
“Alright”, she replied. “We will do that. What about abroad?”  
“I want to visit somewhere, yeah. At some point.”  
“Alright”,  mum nodded. “Lets save money, then.”  
“Mark offered me a job at his shop. I think that I am taking it. I want to work towards my dreams.”  
“I see”, mother replied. “Anything else?”  
“I want you to be ready to talk with me about this later on, too”, I answered. “And I want you to know that you can talk to me about your worries, too. I’m not a child anymore, mum - I know that I am your only child, and that I will always be a child to you. But even if I am your child, I’m an adult now. Young, yes. But I want you to see me as someone trustworthy. As someone grown up who can support you.”  
“Alright”, mother nodded. “I will do my best to do this. I don’t want to ruin our relationship any more.”  
“Nothing is ruined, mum.”  
“No, but it’ll be if I don’t face what I have to. So I will do my best to be a better mother to you from now on.”  
“It’s no sin that you love too much”, I replied, carefully. “But you need to learn to live without me.”  
“I know”, she replied. “I know.”  
  
A silence.  
“How have you been, mum?”  
“A bit lonely”, she replied. “But I think it did some good to me. Had time to think about this.”  
“Good”, I replied. “I hope you remembered to restock coffee.”  
“I did”, she smiled. “Will you be returning home?”  
“I will. I can’t stay at Marco’s for ever.”  
“So that’s where you have been?” mum wondered. “No wonder. I should have guessed. But I don’t know where he lives.”  
“You took the car here, didn’t you?” I asked. Mum nodded. “Well, then, I will drive us to his flat to pick up my things once we are done drinking these.”  
“Alright”, she nodded, taking a long sip of her forgotten drink. “I will wait in the car.”  
“That’d be preferred, yes.”  
“Hey now”, she laughed. “No need to be so blunt about it.”  
“Of course I need to”, I smirked. “Otherwise you could get funny ideas that you are wanted inside.”  
“What a low blow”, she smiled. “Well, I guess he doesn’t have a very good picture of me.”  
“Marco? I don’t know. I think he’s a bit angry at you”, I shrugged. “For not talking about things with me.”  
“Does he know now?” mother asked. “About you? About five years?”  
“No”, I shook my head. “Not very clearly. I mean he knows about my heart and that... I will probably die young. But we haven’t talked about it too much.”  
“He has had a hard life, hasn’t he?”  
“Too hard”, I replied. “But it’s not my place to tell it.”  
“I understand”, she nodded. “He’s very dear to you, isn’t he?”  
“He is.”  
“Is he dating anyone?” mother asked. “You told me you two aren’t dating, but I’d guess such a handsome and nice young man is probably dating someone.”  
“Let go of your drink, mum”, I said. Mum rose her eyebrows but set her glass to the table, then tilted her head at me on the clear question of, _okay, what now?_  
“Marco is dating someone”, I replied. “And he’s gay.”  
“I guessed so much”, she muttered. “I wouldn’t drop my glass over that.”  
“He’s dating me.”  
  
Mum’s eyes rose up to mine.  
“So you were dating before?”  
“No”, I shook my head. “We weren’t. I didn’t lie about that.”  
“But you are now?”  
“Yes, we are dating now.”  
“Since when?”  
“Since sometime ago”, I replied. “So yes, he knows that I can die and that I probably will die young. We talked about it, but not in much detail. That’s for later, I guess. If we end up getting more serious about it.”  
“Somehow”, mum said, clearing her throat again. “I’m sorry. I probably shouldn’t say this. I’m happy for you two but it... worries me how much this might be hurting you.”  
“Trust me”, I muttered. “I haven’t been able to burn off the image of you in the hospital when father died. I know. I know where this might end, but”, I met with her brown eyes, lighter than Marco’s but darker than mine. Such pretty eyes. “But I couldn’t help falling for him. Even when I knew. He has known about me for a long while, too. He couldn’t help falling for me, either. Life’s funny like that.”  
“World’s funny, yes”, mother smiled. “The fist time I saw your father, I thought ‘what a rude looking man’. His resting face is even angrier than yours as you well know. Well, no matter, he turned out to be a charming man. I regret nothing.”  
“You don’t ever...  regret marrying him? Think about how you could be still happily married if you had chosen someone else?”  
  
Mother shook her head and laughed, taking a last long sip of her coffee.  
“Never”, she then replied, looking straight into my eyes. “I would never regret falling for him. Of course, sometimes I get angry - why did it have to be my husband that died? Why couldn’t it be someone else? Why Guillaume? But there’s no why”, she shook her head. “There’s no why, not really. Life takes who it wants, no matter how hard we fight against it. So there’s no point in asking ‘why my husband? why my son? what did I do to deserve this?’ because there is no ‘why’. My parents died young. My husband died young. My son might die even younger. It’s no time to be bitter about it”, she shook her head harder. “If something, it has taught me a lot about the importance and fragility of life. Sure, that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. But now I know the importance of life and time - so, lets face this together. I’m sorry it took me this long to realise, but I really want to treasure the time that we have left. So that neither of us will be left with regrets.”  
“Mum”, I breathed out. “I’m sorry for calling you weak before. You are very, very strong. I admire you, really. I hope that I can be more like you as I grow - no, no no no, _don’t you dare to cry on me._ ”  
“I won’t, I won’t”, she laughed, quickly drying the corners of her eyes. “Lets get going. I still need to cook today.”  
“Alright”, I nodded, gulping down rest of my coffee at one go. “But I’d prefer Chinese take out.”  
“Greedy, now?”  
“I’ll consider it my ‘welcome back’ present.”  
“Alright, you have well deserved it.”  
  
Laughing, we said goodbyes to the workers and walked out of the door.  
_It has been way too long since I last laughed with her,_ I thought.  
Sure, things wouldn’t be perfect between us now. Not yet.  
But it’ll be alright, I know it. Not perfect, probably never.  
  
But it’ll be alright, really.

***

5 years before,  
15 th of July,  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
“Hello, Jean! How have you been?”  
“Quite okay”, I smiled to my phone, setting the pencil I had been holding aside. “I was drawing, actually. How have you been?”  
“I’ve been well, thank you for asking”, Marco replied. “Kind of miss waking up next to you but I have been going to my coffee and sandwich tours again. Annie looks half disappointed.”  
“Oh wow”, I laughed, trying to hide my embarrassment. “I have been missing that too. Why don’t you give Annie some of your turns if she so likes doing it?”  
“I should, I should”, Marco hummed. “Especially now that I have something to do. She thanked you for the food you left for her by the way. Also, I heard Armin is coming back for the wedding.”  
“Ah, tell her it’s not problem. And yes, I heard so too”, I hummed. “He texted me saying he’ll be doing his best to get to visit. Mikasa and Eren can’t come it seems thought. They have a new part time job so they don’t dare to ask for days off since they already have to ask for such weird shifts because of their training.”  
“I am not actually that aware of what they are doing”, Marco admitted. “So I have to ask - what do you mean by ‘training’?”  
“Oh, they are attending this seafaring school”, I explained. “Or, well, they haven’t officially started it yet. They are in a summer course by the same school now because they are all rookies and wanted to gain at least a little experience before the actual schooling starts. They seem to be loving it so far. It’s a shame the school is that far away.”  
“Mm, it’s in South, isn’t it?”  
“Yep”, I hummed, picking up my pen. “What are you doing this week?”  
“I will either be lazying around or going to help with the blood donation place.”  
“Blood donation place?”  
“The place I get my blood from. Vampires volunteer for turns to give out that blood since many of us actually have jobs and stuff.  
“Huh”, I replied. “That’s interesting. Who donates the blood?”  
“Some blood we get from hospitals, those rare times there’s so much of some blood type they think the blood would go bad. But mostly people who are aware of vampires existing, really.”  
“Are there many of them?”  
“Surprisingly many. But most of them work in jobs where they need to know or might accidentally find out - people who handle our new papers when needed - yes, that’s a job, faking vampire ids... or well, it’s official, not faking, but still. Some people are nurses and doctors who have gotten vampire patients from accidents, some are just random people who found out. Some people are like Annie, people who are friends with vampires.”  
“That’s cool. Could I donate if I wanted to?”  
“Can you... donate blood? With your heart condition.”  
“Never thought about it”, I shrugged. “I will google it sometime, but I’d think I can.”  
“I don’t know... well, I guess, if you can you could but... this sounds horrible, but I don’t really like the idea.”  
“Why?”  
“Because so far, I’m the only vampire who has ever drank your blood, right?”  
“Marco”, I laughed, rolling my pen against the paper in mindless circles. “Are you jealous over my blood?”  
“What? No? Maybe? I’m sorry?”  
“No no, it’s cute”, I smirked. “Listen - I am going to be quite busy before the wedding since I’m trying to do this whole ‘fixing the mother-son relationship’ thing while having the wedding rehearsals. Not to mention I’m helping Mark with all the flowers.”  
“Your uncle is in charge of flowers for the wedding?”  
“Naturally. I told you Sasha did the school’s work training there, didn’t I? And that they are buddies?”  
“Oh, yes you did. I wasn’t thinking, my mistake.”  
“It’s alright”, I hummed. “But hey, I should probably continue drawing this - I promised to do a thing for Mark.”  
“Illustration?”  
“Something like that.”  
“Well, the best of luck to that, Jean. I will leave you to work on that.”  
“Thank you, and sorry about this. But before you go - are you free next Thursday?”  
“Thursday? I should be, why?”  
“Can we meet then?” I asked, tapping the pen against the paper. “I probably won’t have time to see you properly before that - which I absolute hate, this sucks a lot -  but yeah, it’d be lovely to meet for sometime at least if you can.”  
“It’s alright, Jean”, Marco replied. “You are having a busy month, I completely understand. Next Thursday is a go, then. Should I come over?”  
“Sure, if you’d like to”, I hummed.  “That’s probably be good, since I am told to rest that day.”  
“Oh, why?”  
“I have the meeting about my health on 25th. The one where they declare if I am allowed heavier exercise again.”  
“Oh, I understand”, Marco said, not being able to hide the little tingle of excitement in his voice. “Well, what do you think if I come over around two in the afternoon?”  
“That’d sound lovely.”  
“Alright, well, I will see you then.”  
“Thanks a bunch again. I will call you on the weekend, okay?”  
“Alright! I will send you a text now and then if it’s no bother?”  
“Not at all, send me just as many as you want”, I smiled. “Well, I will talk to you later, then.”  
“Alright, don’t overwork yourself, sweetie. Goodnight!”  
“G’night, Marco.”  
  
_Sweetie._  
One day that boy would be the end of me.  
I didn’t mind, thought. I didn’t mind it at all.

***

5 years before,  
24 th of July,  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
Marco appeared at 14-nil-nil, with his camera held in his excited hands.  
_May I_ , he started. _May I take your picture?_  
_Sure,_ I smiled. _If you want to._  
  
How I ended up on my bed, leaning into the touch of his fingers on naked skin as he straightened my jawline, repositioned my fingers, licked his lips before pressing them to mine was complicated. But nothing mattered, not when he whispered _god Jean, you are so beautiful_ , as he caught my lips with his perfect teeth and runaway breaths, his fingers twitching as they almost touched me.  
So frustrated with the little clothing still separating me from him.  
  
But we knew, we both knew our promise.  
So his fingers retreated, and he stood back, saying _yeah, I think this is it. Thank you, really. You can put your clothes back on._  
  
Never had I ever hated the scar on my chest as I did while sliding my shirt back on in the silence of my room.  
  
_Tomorrow_ , I thought. _Tomorrow I will know._

***

5 years before,  
31 st of July,  
Eastern Trost; home  
  
From: Sucker <3  
Are you awake?  
  
To: Sucker <3  
Yeah, just got under the covers tho. Why?  
  
From: Sucker <3  
I just wanted to text with you for a while if that’s fine.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
Ofc, is everything alright?  
  
From: Sucker <3  
It is, I’m just super nervous about tomorrow.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
Because you are photographing?  
  
From: Sucker <3  
Exactly. What if I fuck up everything? Use completely wrong ISO or my white balances are completely off? What if only get askew and shaky pictures.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
What the hell are ISO and white balance? Actually, no, don’t explain it now I wouldn’t understand a word I’m too tired.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
I’m sure you will do fine, Marco. You are a very good photographer. Furthermore, you took all those test pictures of me last week, I know that you can photograph humans. Not to mention - even if you magically, unbelievably end up only getting fucked up  
  
To: Sucker <3  
(shit, that send too early) - shot’s of hazy half faces, it’s alright - no one will get angry or disappointed. You are not a professional (yet, at least) and you are not paid to do this as a job. If you take great pictures, it’ll just be a lovely extra memories to Sasha and Connie. If nothing works out, they will still get their official wedding pictures. It will be fine, no matter.  
  
From: Sucker <3  
... thank you so much for that, Jean. That was actually surprisingly calming.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
Np. Let me check with you: your camera has battery and you have packed it somewhere where you can’t forget it? Annie’s car has diesel in it?  
  
From: Sucker <3  
Battery and extra battery are full! Annie’s car should have diesel. She’ll murder me if I go and wake her asking about it so I just have to trust my senses.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
Well, you just call me if you need a lift for any reason in the morning, alright? I will get mum to come get you. So now, no need to stress - everything will be alright.  
  
From: Sucker <3  
Thank you, really.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
It’s no problem, really. Now, try to sleep Marco - you need to wake up early, and you don’t want black rings around your eyes.  
  
From: Sucker <3  
Jean, I’m a vampire. I never look too refreshed.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
You look all good, Marco. Now, sleep - you have a long day ahead. In a suit, I might add.  
  
From: Sucker <3  
Alright, alright. Sleep well, sweetie.  
  
To: Sucker <3  
Good night, Marco :)

***

5 years before,  
1 st of August,  
Northern Trost  
  
Now, listen to me seriously.  
Never ever promise to be bridesmaid and best man at the same time. Never.  
I mean, alright. I understand that this might be kind of one man experience but if you ever are offered the honour just, for the sake of yourself, don’t take it. Listen to me. I have been running like a headless chicken around this building from dressing room number one to dressing room number two. After driving the to-be-wedded here.  
_But isn’t there the thing that you shouldn’t see each other in the wedding morning before the actual wedding?_  
_We don’t care, really. We won’t see each other in the get up beforehand, thought. That’s traditional enough for us. We are skipping many traditions already - so why not to do it fully in our style._  
_But Sasha, are you really sure about me walking you to the altar? Shouldn’t your father do it?_  
_What did I just say about ‘our style’, Jean? The whole dad thing is old...  and you see. Don’t tell this to Connie, but I just... I just don’t want to have my parents too much in the middle of it all right now. Not when he has no-one to bring there like that._  
_Oh._  
_That’s why it’s free to sit where you want thing. Well, minus a few places. But  we are not doing the traditional. We are doing a we thing. We want you to walk me to the altar and then give us the rings. You are us best friend. Like family. We want you in there._  
  
How could I have said no to that?  
But I knew, I knew.  
I’d never walk my own daughter down the aisle, they thought.  
_So let him walk his best friend._  
I appreciate it, really. I do.  
I just get a little sad sometimes, when it’s pushed to my face in all these ways.  
  
“Jean”, Sasha said. “Get dressed up now. You need to be on time, too. Even before us, really. You are showing people inside, after all.”  
“Alright”, I mumbled, looking up to Ymir who was standing in the corner. The creepy couple had been silent all morning, busy helping the wife and husband to be to get dressed and doing Sasha’s hair and make up. Now that Sasha’s hair was perfect - a beautiful, braided bun with small blue flowers - Ymir was looking rather relaxed, leaning to the wall behind her. Her own hair was curled almost 20’s style, a blue suit hugging her slender form.  
“What?” she asked, meeting my gaze. “What are you after?”  
“Ymir”, Sasha cut in. “Can you please go help Connie until the ceremony starts? Jean needs to get dressed up and then flee to his other responsibilities, and it’d be great help if you could.”  
“Alright”, Ymir sighed. “But only because it’s for you, Sash.”  
“Thank you”, Sasha smiled, looking at her through the mirror. “Seriously. You are a lifesaver, Ymir.”  
“Yea yea”, she dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “I just owe to you, that’s it.”  
With it, she was off the door.    
  
I looked over to Sasha, her pretty form strong but nervous as Krista applied her make up.  
_I want my eye-liner to be blue and silver, with a flick that’s sharp enough to kill a man,_ she had told me earlier. _So no one will ever try to hurt my Connie because they will know I will be after them if they do._  
_That’s admirable goal, Sasha._  
_It’s no goal. It’s a decision._  
  
What the hell had she done to make who-ever-even-knew-how-old vampire to repeatedly say ‘I owe to you’, that I did not know. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to, really. I was already scared enough of Sasha’s hidden powers as it was.  
“Your suit is behind the folding screen”, Krista smiled and nodded to the left. “You should really put it on so I can check that the details are perfect.”  
“Alright, thank you”, I replied, nodding carefully, not wanting to mess up the hair that Ymir had quickly, but carefully, settled onto it place before. “I will get it on immediately.”  
  
I slipped behind that folding screen, finding my suit hanging from its edge with my suit pants and dress shirt. I quickly discharged the shirt and shorts I had been wearing - really professional, I know. But I wanted to rather look like a fool at the start than ruin my suit by sweating it through before the celebrations even really started.  
I grabbed my bag and pulled out my scentless and anti-smudging antiperspirant - totally bought for situations like this- and rolled it over my feet and armpits. That’d have to do, I decided and rolled on my socks. White with blue dots, Connie’s decision. Good socks, I had to admit - so soft and smooth against my skin. He chose a good brand.  
  
I jumped onto my slacks next, leaving them to hang open at my hips. The belt was pressing them further down, but they stayed up, just and just. _Black belt_ , Krista had told me. _I would have preferred a good shade of brown, but since your shoes are black I want your belt to match them._  
I slowly slid my hands through the white shirt’s sleeves. I didn’t want to wrinkle it, either, so I took my time buttoning it carefully before tugging the hem into my pants and closing the belt.  
“Jean? Are you on your trousers and shirt now?” Krista asked, knocking on the screen.  
“Yeah!”  
“Excuse me, then”, Krista continued, stepping to my side. “Turn around, let me check your shirt.”  
I turned around and Krista nodded, tugging the backside in a little better. Then she asked me to lean down as she pulled out my tie, white with small blue lilies of valley embroidered onto the surface. It was charming, really.  
Krista’s hands were fast and experienced, and she didn’t take long to knot the tie into something so beautiful I didn’t even know the knot’s name.  
“How do I take this off?” I asked, pointing at my tie. “Once I get home, I mean.”  
“You just tug it slowly at here”, she said, tapping a part of it. “Carefully. It will come of surprisingly easy, I promise. You can call me if you can’t get it off.”  
“I don’t know your number.”  
“I will get yours from Sasha and text you”, she hummed in reply. Then, quieter. “Since we still need to talk about everything. But we can’t do it here.”  
“Next time”, I whispered back. “Lets make sure it’s a place where we really can talk, okay?”  
“Alright”, she smiled. “Get the rest on, I will go back to Sasha meanwhile.”  
  
She left and I decided to get in my shoes. My own, now shining black shoes that had walked me through numeral things. Starting from my father’s funeral to school graduations. This was their début in weddings, thought.  
“Don’t fail on me now”, I murmured, patting the shoes carefully. They had softened to be like a second skin by now, which was good. The least I needed was bleeding feet.  
  
The vest I put on was the same shade of blue as the suit itself, perfectly not too thigh but fitting, Long enough to hide my belt almost completely from view, only revealing the buckle which silver matched the one found on my cuff links. Someone had the eye for details, it seemed.  
  
I pulled on my jacket and buttoned it up, only leaving the lowest button open. I straightened the sleeves before stepping out, spinning round twice under the girls’ gazes.  
“Almost perfect”, Sasha nodded. “You just need a little present from me.”  
“A present?” I asked.  
“Well, two really”, she smiled, standing up. “First”, she said, dipping her fingers into her cleavage and pulling out a small polka striped foil packaging that could only be one thing based on its shape. “Some safeness to your lovely personal after party”, she chirped and tugged her fingers between my shirt and the suit, stumbling until she found the inside breast pocket and pushed the condom in. Retreating her fingers, she winked, then turned back to her table.  
“Secondly”, she said, lifting up a small box and flipping it open. “These.”  
What I faced with was a pair a simple, white-ish, sparkling round earrings. I laughed, nodded and proceed to remove the small silver ones I had been wearing. There was no asking her why or how, nor how expensive those earrings had been. The answer was clear: expensive. Silver and something a bit too real for my wallet. So I decided to not to give it too much thought as I closed them onto their places on my ears.  
“Good?” I asked, turning my head. “Are my ears pretty enough for you now?”  
“Yes”, she nodded. “Very pretty indeed. Now, put on your gloves and then you should hurry - I wouldn’t be surprised if someone is already standing behind the door.”  
“Alright”, I smiled, taking the white silk gloves Krista offered for me and carefully pulling them on. “I’d hug you but I don’t dare to touch you now so I won’t ruin your dress or make up, but I will ask - are you alright now, Sasha?”  
“I am”, she nodded firmly. “Nervous, but in the best way ever. Marco should come here to take a few pictures and he will accompany me until it’s my time to come to the hallway. So I will be fine - we will meet in the hallway again, be there on time.”  
“I will, I will”, I reassured her. “Krista, in how bad trouble am if I kiss her forehead?”  
“Make if a dry kiss and I won’t murder you.”  
“Thanks”, I muttered, and pressed a a quick peck to Sasha’s forehead. “You look absolutely stunning. Now, let Krista finish you up so you will shine ever more. It’s your big day - make the most out of it.”  
“I will”, Sasha smiled,  reaching for my fingers to squeeze them. “Thank you, Jean. No, go, you majestic horse. Serve us.”  
“Yes, miss”, I smirked. “I’m going.”  
  
Closing the door behind me, I was hit with the realisation of how she’d never be a ‘miss’ again after today.  
There was a smile on my lips, as I thought about that.  
Mrs, not miss.  
What a wonderful, wonderful thing.  
  
The door on the other end of the hall opened as I reached the start of the stairs. I was met with the figure of a smiling Marco, now dressed and with a camera in his hands. He came up to me, giving me a small hi and smile that duck his teeth into his lower lip.  
Fuck, he looked really, really hot in that suit- I mean, I had guessed he would - I mean, come one. Everyone looks good in a fitting suit. Marco’s hot to start with so... you can just imagine what the way the jacket drew out the broadness of his shoulders and how the vest hugged into his waist did to me. He was dressed almost completely like me, but his vest had white bordering and buttons and his tie’s colours were opposite of mine.  
“You look amazing in that suit”, I hummed approvingly, giving him a one more up and down before leaning in to peck his cheek. Then, smirking, leaning to whisper into his ear  
_I can’t wait to tear it off your body._  
I winked at him before hurrying down the stairs, ready to help in the the first guests I could already see on the yard through the window. Sasha wasn’t wrong. Her relatives really liked arriving early, which was too bad. I wish I would have had a little bit more time to ogle my boyfriend.  
  
And yes, you did hear that earlier thing right.  
Jean Kirstein, 20 years old. Declared healthy enough to do heavy exercise again. Of _fucking_ course that means celebration sex once we’d get out of here. I mean, I could always take a jog instead of the sex but who, _who_ would choose a jog over sex with _Marco_?  
Okay, maybe someone would do it. Someone asexual or lesbian or a straight guy, I guess. But I was none of that, and I sure as hell would not skip sex with Marco.  
  
I hadn’t gotten the touch of his fingers off my head as he straightened my pose. Not the fire on his eyes, not the lips that almost touched me.  
_When you are healthy, yeah?_  
_Yeah._  
That date had to be the definition of leaving someone blue balled. Probably for the both of us.  
But now, _now_. Now there was nothing holding us back anymore. Minus the wedding. Minus the fact that I need to stop thinking like this because I can’t be that best man who popped a boner.    
  
But afterwards. Afterwards it’d be good.  
So I opened the door and smiled. Some aunts of Sasha, it seemed.  
_The seating is free,_ I said. _You can sit anywhere but the first bench row on either sides, alright? Those are reserved for the closest family members._  
  
_Yeah_ , I thought, taking a deep breath.  
_Reserved for closest families._  
_For one family present on flesh,_  
_and for family presented with  four empty seats with white roses on them._  
_Present in soul. Present in memories. Present in mind._  
_But never, ever, present on flesh ever again._  
  
I lowered my eyes, gathering my breath before offering to help the aunts by showing them the way.  
_Stay strong, little man_ , I thought, giving Connie a mental hug as I guided the ladies further in. _Just stay strong buddy. It’ll be alright._

***

It was a good hour later that I finally saw Sasha again. Now in that small hallway, doors to the actual ceremony hall, all ready to start behind the tightly closed doors. Sasha was standing by Marco when I slipped in, her whole body relaxing at the sight of me.  
  
“Bless everything”, she breathed. “I was so scared. so so scared you wouldn’t be coming.”  
“Of course I came”, I soothed her, stepping to stand by her, to her left side. “Now, lets link arms. It will be okay.”  
“I think I’m going to throw up”, she eloquently informed as she slipped her shaking hand around mine. “Or faint. I’m going to faint, Jean.”  
“No, you won’t”, I hushed her, squeezing her fingers a little. “Remember what you said. Eye-liner sharp enough to kill a man so that no one will hurt your Connie. This is the moment you do it - you walk in and you own the place and you stomp on anyone who tries to get into your way with your beautiful heels”, I said, nodding towards her high blue heels with bows around her ankles. “You are going to shine, Sasha. I know it. So hold your head high and carry your flowers like they were your sword. You are on your quest to a greatest future there will ever be.”  
“Who taught you to keep inspirational speeches”, Sasha laughed, sounding still a little shrill but her shoulders more relaxed. “All right, Marco - give me my sword. I am going into a battle.”  
“Here, miss”, Marco said, bowing playfully before giving Sasha he bouquet. “Fight well. Now, let me take a picture of you two before you go inside.”  
  
He readied his camera and shot the first picture just as the music started. Sasha inhaled loudly, straightening her back, sternness growing into her pose.  
“I still can’t believe you chose this song as your song”, I mumbled, knowing there to be a good fifteen seconds left before the doors would start opening. Another click, third, fourth. Marco took more shots.  
“Irene Adler’s theme is beautiful”, Sasha replied. “And since we could, why wouldn’t we make the wedding ours?”  
“No reason. I’m glad you made it so. It’s your special day.”  
“It is”, she smiled. “And I am happy.”  
“Good”, I smiled. “I want to be the last to say it, Sasha - enjoy your last moments as a free woman, miss. Your last moments as a miss.”  
“Thank you”, she smiled. “Can’t wait not to be a miss anymore.”  
  
The doors cracked open and Marco stepped further to the side. Away from the view, but his camera still ready. I exchanged a one last look with Sasha, and we smiled. Then, we straightened ourselves one last time as we waited for the doors slowly to be fully open, with Krista and Ymir smiling at us from the side.  
  
A step forward, and there we went.Slowly, peacefully, in a phase that would give everyone time to admire the way her dress hugged her body, the way her hairdo brought out the shape of her face and how the her eyes were firm with determination and fire.  
_The most beautiful bride I have seen_ , I admitted to myself. Sasha was beautiful - she had always been. But what made her more beautiful than any make up or dress was the love that so openly burned on her eyes when she looked at Connie. In all these six years, it has just grown stronger and bolder, warmer. I had no doubts about it keeping on growing with each year there was to come.  
_Sometimes,_ I thought. _You just know that something will last forever._  
  
The phones were clicking, camera shutters fluttering. The aisle up to Connie seemed both so long and so short. I could see the shook of his shoulders, as he stood alone, his back to us.  
_Oh Connie._  
_I’m sorry you have to be alone._  
_But not anymore._  
We reached his side, and carefully he turned to look at us.  
  
I wasn’t surprised by his tears, really.  
Sasha gave me her flowers and I took my step back as she took Connie’s hand, smiling so gently at him, rising her hand his cheek to wipe off the tears from his cheek.  
“Hi baby”, she whispered. “It’s alright, I’m here.”  
“You look beautiful”, Connie hummed to her, taking her other hand into his, too. “It’s okay. I’m okay. I just can’t believe that  we are here. I’m so happy.”  
“You better start believing”, Sasha smiled. “Because it’s true.”  
  
They smiled at each other before turning their gazes to the notary, entwining their fingers even tighter together as they did so.  
The notary - I guess she was a notary. I wasn’t too sure, really - I had never attended a non religious wedding before in my life and never really bothered to check what it meant in reality. But I had a shaky impression that she had to be a notary of some kind or a registrar - or something similar. Notary would make a do as name for her.  
  
The notary, or whatever, she explained the situation to the crowd. You are here to witness a marriage between these two lovers, that usual, talked a little about the meaning of marriage. But I was too busy looking at the way my friends were holding each other, their overflowing happiness, to really care about what she said. Until it came down to the part where I knew I had to as the she called the audience to stand up and asked Connie to repeat the words after her.  
“I call upon these persons here present”, he said, his voice strong and without a hint of the earlier tears. “To witness that I, Connie James Springer”, he continued, waiting for the next line with a smile on his lips, his thumbs circling Sasha’s palms. “Do take the Sasha Fredrika Braus to be my lawful wedded wife.”  
A big, big smiles adorning their lips.  
  
“And the same for you”, the notary said to Sasha who nodded at her.  
“I call upon these persons here present”, she repeated, a breathy laughter bubbling onto the words. “To witness that I, Sasha Fredrika Braus”, she smirked at the pause, showing Connie the tip of her tongue before hiding it into a smile that wrinkled her nose. “Do take the Connie James Springer to be my lawful wedded husband.”  
“Dear guests, I’d now like to ask you to sit down.”  
  
They sat down. I didn’t, because I knew it was my turn to step in soon. So I stood in the sidelines, waiting, as the two gave their vows of cherishing and respecting the other, through hardships and good times, as friends and lovers. To always remain faithful to each other, today and for the rest of their lives.  
With a look from the notary, I stepped forward and pressed the ring onto Connie’s open palm. Then, I turned to Sasha and did the same, getting a small ‘thank you’ as I stepped backwards, back to the bench. Next to the four white roses on seats that would never be taken.  
  
Connie took Sasha's hand onto his own, pressing the ring to the tip of her ring finger.  
“I give you this ring, as a sign of our love and marriage”, he smiled. “And as an outward sign of the commitment we have made to each other.”  
Then he slipped the ring on, and the room was was filled with the shutter flutters. Sasha laughed a little, before pulling her hand off to take Connie’s left into hers. She positioned the ring, smiling.  
“I give you this ring, as sign of our love and marriage”, she too repeated. “And as an outward sign of the commitment we  have made to each other.”  
More flashes, more laughter. A few words I missed again from the judge, this time because I was too busy gazing up to Marco in the other end of the hall.  
“It’s now my privilege, and my pleasure”, the notary said, bringing my attention back to her. “To declare that you are legally married. You may now kiss one another.”  
They leaned into the kiss and the room exploded with clapping.  
I had never seen happier faces, I thought, looking at them.  
  
They turned up and signed the book, as the notary explained the situation to the audience.  
“Due to the personal request of the newly-wed couple, there is no throwing the confetti nor bouquet outside”, she said. “The couple will take their leave to visit important people who could not be present on this gathering, and will join you on the after party shortly after. The two women dressed in blue suits by the door will help you with the directions of the gathering place and getting there. Now, if you may, stand up and let the Mr and Mrs Braus leave first with your congratulations as their escorts.”  
  
Sasha and Connie smiled, finishing up writing the documents as the photographer took a few pictures. They smiled, nodded at each other and then me. I knew what they meant, so I slowly followed down the aisle behind them after giving Sasha her flowers back, through the rows of clapping people with smiling faces.  
I didn’t miss how Connie’s eyes flew over the empty chairs, but it wasn’t a surprise. Sasha’s did too, but they both smiled, looking forward now.  
  
The air outside was pretty and silent. Warm, but not too much so, the sun still kissing our skins as we silently walked to the car. There were no just married signs, none of that. It wasn’t a drive like that, in the end.  
I unlocked the doors and held the door open for Sasha as she climbed in, then repeating the same for Connie before taking my place on the front seat.  
“Congratulations”, I said, buckling in my seatbelt. “How does it feel.”  
“Unbelievable”, Connie replied. “But it’s not really over just yet.”  
“Of course not”, I nodded. “We still need to tell some important people, don’t we.”  
“Yes”, he replied, taking Sasha’s hand into his own. “I have to brag, just a little.”  
“You better do”, Sasha smirked. “You better brag so much because I’m worth all of that. I will brag, too.”  
“You better”, Connie smirked back at her. I just shook my head.  
“Alright then”, I informed. Here we go.”  
  
The ride wasn’t long, just five minutes or so.  
But it was the heaviest, I knew. Even with Connie and Sasha laughing as they yanked off the white garter from her leg, smirking. I didn’t say anything, not really, because I knew where this was going. Despite the smirks, despite the laughter, the atmosphere was heavy, and it just got heavier as I pulled to a the stop at the gates we were all too familiar with.  
  
Connie got out his seat before me, and I let him help his wife out. It was his right, really, not mine. It was their day, their moment. A moment they should share only with those they wanted.  
“Do you want me to wait here?” I asked. Connie shook his head.  
“You are like a brother to me, Jean. You are part of the family. I want you to come, too.”  
“You are like a brother to me, too, Jean”, Sasha nodded. “Definitely part of the family. Come with us, like we talked before.”  
“Alright”, I nodded, locking the car and stepping forward to hold the gate open. “After you.”  
  
Connie took Sasha’s hand, like they had as they walked down the aisle moments before.  
Now. the aisle was just sanded passage between a headstone after another.  
A few funny looks from people, at the overly dressed couple and the man slowly walking behind them. One elder lady seemed to understand, it seemed, as sadness crossed her eyes as she saw the rings on their fingers, the way they held each other and the flowers on Sasha’s hands. She lowered her head down as we passed, into a silent bow of respect.  
I wanted to thank her, but I couldn’t. So I just bowed back at her once she lift her head, following the couple further in. In an in, through the rambling little graveyard paths.  
  
The heaviest wedding march known to a man came into end in front of a simple black headstone, it’s only decoration a small gilded engraving of Lily of the Valley.  
I knew, I knew where that symbol came from, I thought, carefully touching my tie as the couple settled to stand in front of the grave. Silently, they collected the power, it seemed. Connie’s shoulders were shaking once more, voiceless tears rolling down his cheeks as he cleared his throat.  
  
"Mum, dad, Martin and Sunny”, he stated, giving a nod to each engraved name. “Look, I married her."  
His voice was proud, so proud, as more and more tears rolled down his cheeks and his shoulders shook more violently. Sasha leaned her head to his shoulder, drawing soothing circles to his palm with her thumb, her hand holding the bouquet rising to his arm, too. Delicate, long fingers clenching at the suit fabric enough to wrinkle it.  
"I wanted to show her to you”, Connie croaked, a sob escaping him. “I really, really love her, mother. I’m sorry I couldn’t give her your ring. I really, really love her, father. I’m sorry I never told you. Sunny, I’m so sorry I couldn’t keep my promise to you. Martin, I’m so sorry I didn’t help you with your homework the last night. I want you to all know that I love her. I truly, truly love her. So I am going to take care of her, for the rest of my life.”  
He gazed to Sasha, mustering a smile. “She'll take care of me, too. Like she always has."  
"Do not worry, your Connie is in good hands”, Sasha said, her voice strong. So strong. She was carrying them both now, I could tell. I wasn’t needed there, not really. But if they wanted me there, I would stay.  
“I love him”, she continued. “And I will never let him down."  
She met her husband's eyes with a tender smile, reaching to wipe the the tear from his cheek for the second time for the day. "I really do love him, too."  
  
They smiled each other, and Sasha slowly let go of Connie’s hand to crouch down by the grave. Settling her bouquet under the letter’s spelling out Sunny’s name.  
"This is for you, Sunny", she tells, as if the name could hear her. Her voice wavered slightly as she continued, her eyes cast on that name and that name alone now. "It’s for you, because you told me that you wanted to be a bride when you grow up."  
Connie slowly lowered down next to her, leaning his knee to the round stones surrounding the grave. He pulled out that while frilly garter form his pocket, carefully settling it down by Martin’s name.  
“I know you might have been gay, but I wanted to give this to you”, he whispered, carefully reaching to pat the gravestone before straightening himself and helping Sasha up. They nodded at each other, entwining their fingers, before looking back at me. I nodded too, gazing towards to stone and giving it a little wave.  
It wasn’t really my place to say anything, not really.  
So I followed the couple as they turned in sync, to their slow march back to the car.  
  
Really, it was beautiful. In one of the most cruellest ways that I could imagine.  
  
We didn’t talk much at the way to the party. Connie dried his tears with the handkerchief I silently gave him. Sasha held his hand the whole way back, muttering hushed murmurs to him that I couldn’t hear from the motor. They weren’t meant for my ears, really, I knew. So I didn’t mind at all.  
  
I held them the door open to the after party, to the lovely big room they had rented for it. It was decorated according to the theme, and it had beautiful tables of food waiting to be eaten. I left Sasha and Connie to the hands of all the well-wishers, to enjoy their fame for the day. Hoping it’d ease the heaviness surely still eating at their chests.  
  
I looked around, for a sight of Marco. It took me a moment before I saw him, talking to the actual photographer of the night. She was a woman with brown hair and eyes, kind of small and a little fragile looking. Her expression looked painful as she nodded at Marco, before stepping past him, to picture the couple and the guests, I guessed. I walked to greet Marco, and there was sadness on his eyes that surprised me.  
“Is everything alright?” I asked him, cocking my head. “Did she say something to you?”  
“Oh, no no”, Marco shook his head. “I’m alright. I only talked about the lighting not being ideal at all with her. I just saw Connie’s face - you visited his family, didn’t you.”  
“We did”, I nodded. Marco wasn’t telling me everything - I could tell, easily. But I didn’t push him. I didn’t know what weddings meant to him. What kind of memories it could be pushing up to his mind.  
“Sounds heavy”, Marco noted. “How are they doing?”  
“They are fine”, I shrugged. “Sad, but fine, you know? Connie got to show of his wife to his family -that’s what mattered the most, I guess. It will be alright. They will be happy today - they are happy today. With them, it’s just a little bitter-sweet at points. But they are happy.”  
“I’m glad to hear”, Marco smiled. “So I guess they will be cutting the cake soon.”  
“They said they won’t take long”, I nodded. “But there are some older people here and people who need to leave to travel back earlier on. So they will be keeping their speeches first.”  
“I see”, Marco nodded. “So no cake for you for a while yet.”  
“I was actually thinking of leaving after the speeches”, I smiled, almost laughing at the surprise at his face. “Sasha and Connie know me well. I’m rather introverted, as you might have noticed. We decided I’d leave after the speeches while we planned everything, so that I wouldn’t end up being an annoyed little shit to everyone by the time the party finally ends.”  
“Huh”, Marco laughed. “That’s actually really nice.”  
“The pros of long-time friendships”, I smirked. “But now, look, they are asking everyone to sit down. So lets get to our places, they are in the table with them.”  
“Are you giving a best man speech?”  
“I’m not”, I shook my head. “I am not very comfortable with public speaking. They don’t mind.”  
“Have you ever realised that your friends really consider your comfort level a lot?”  
“I have. They love me. I love them. We have this bond where we just know, really”, I shrugged. “Everyone has a thing of a few they can’t do or that makes them unnecessarily uncomfortable. Like don’t ask Sasha to paint anyone’s nails. She will stress herself half dead worrying about  fucking it up. Don’t ask Connie to drink alcohol. He will get really uncomfortable. Don’t ask Jean to do public speaking. He will hate you if you do. That kind of things.”  
“Hmm”, Marco hummed. “I wonder what mine would be.”  
“Isn’t there something you’d really hate?”  
“Oh, I know”, he replied. “Don’t ask Marco to talk about his family if you aren’t close to him. He will get really reluctant to speak. I guess that’s mine.”  
“Could be”, I nodded, making my way past the other guests. “Come on, here.”  
  
We sat down to the places marked for us, exchanging a smile. Marco reached for my hand under the table and I took it, listening to the chatter as people settled down  
Sasha stood up first, clearing her throat as she collected the attention of people.  
“Kärä gäster”, she started with a smile. Marco’s brows jumped up.  “Jag är så tacksam för att ni tog er tid för att komma på vårt bröllop! Jag tackar er ärligt - jag vet att några av er har rest långt för att komma hit.”  
“What is she saying?” Marco asked in whisper. I leaned closer to him.  
“She thanked the guests for coming, saying how she knows some had to travel a long way to come here.”  
“Alright”, Marco nodded.  
“Do you want me to keep translating the basics to you?” I asked as Sasha continued in her usual, fast paced speaking habit.  
“If you don’t mind it, I’d love you to.”  
“Of course not”, I replied. “Alright, she is thanking people - giving shout out to the people who helped with the wedding. Kinda general, really - she thanked Mark for the beautiful flowers, the artist who made their rings too. Now she’s thanking Krista and Ymir for their endless help with the clothing and everything.”  
“Ah, that’s sweet”, Marco noted. “Oh, she’s turning to you.”  
“Jag vill också ge ett speciell tack till min vackra, hästansiktade brudtärna Jean”, Sasha smiled, pointing up to me. Oh. Oh great. Please no, Sasha.  
“Han är inte den sötaste brudtärnan därute - verkligen, han till och med vägrade att ha på sig en klänning fastän det är mitt bröllop... vilken nerv han har... “  
“What’s she saying?”  
“There’s no way I’m translating this for you”, I hissed. “My god Sasha, please please just shut up.”  
“Men du förstår, jag var tvungen att dela honom med älskade make Connie eftersom vi båda älskar honom så”, she mercilessly continued. Marco nudged my arm, but I shook my head.  
“Tack Jean, för att du är den bästa vännen för bådä av oss. För att stöttat oss genom allting, och ännu viktigare, stått ut med allt vårt skit genom alla dessa åren”, she stated, dropping in a dramatic pause.  
Uh. Oh. This can’t mean anything good.  
I tried to shook my head a little at her, but Sasha just smirked.  
“ Snälla fortsätt att göra så även fast än vi båda heter Braus och inte kan Spring-ah ut ur våra problem.”  
“You didn’t”, I groaned as some of the guests snorted. “You seriously didn’t.”  
“Why are they laughing? What did she say?” Marco asked, as Sasha turned away from me, addressing her parents now.  
“She basically, umn”, I muttered. “She made a really bad pun about her and Connie’s surnames.”  
“Jeaaann...”  
“She thanked me for putting up with them, and then said that she hopes that I continue to do so even though they can’t, uh, ‘Spring-eh’ out of their trouble anymore since both of them go by Braus now. It’s a terrible pun of Connie’s surname, it was Springer. It doesn’t even really make sense.”  
“Oh”, Marco hummed. “I understand. What else did she say about you?”  
“Only things that you don’t meed to know.”  
“Awww, that’s unfair.”  
“No, it really isn’t.”  
  
“And Marco”, Sasha then said, snapping both of our attentions back to her. “I haven’t known you for a long time, but we get along well. I am sure I will keep seeing you around, seeing how important you are to my best friend. Thank you for taking care of him and being so kind to us so far. I will be excited to see the pictures that you took today.”  
Then, she switched back to Swedish, continuing her speech. I shrugged at Marco’s confusion.  
“Sasha cares a lot fast”, I offered as an explanation. “She knows that you are important to me, so you are automatically important to her. That kind of a thing.”  
“Huh, that’s really kind of her”, Marco replied. “What’s she talking about now.”  
“She’s thanked Connie’s family for rising him well, and now she’s thanking Connie himself”, I replied. “For loving her and staying by her side. There’s that gleam in her eyes. She’s going to say something stupid again.”  
“What do you mean.”  
“Just wait.”  
“Dough-not leave me”, she then smirked, winking to her husband. Connie laughed, smirking back at her and nodding. I turned to Marco with the best ‘I told you so’ expression I knew how to make.  
“Did she... just... make a food pun out of how she doesn’t want him to leave her?”  
“That’d be Sasha to you.”  
  
The room applauded as Sasha sat down, giving the microphone to Connie. I took a deep breath.  
“Alright, Marco”, I told him.”There’s a reason why Sasha kept a funny speech. It was to balance this one out.”  
“You mean..?”  
“I mean that you should probably prepare for me crying”, I replied as Connie stood up. “And about everyone else who knows him well, too.”  
“Alright”, Marco nodded, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay if you cry.”  
“I know”, I muttered, squeezing his hand back, before moving my eyes from him to Connie.  
  
“Dear guests”, he started. “As my beautiful, beautiful wife already stated - thank you so much for making time to your busy lives to attend our wedding. We are really glad to have you here tonight. I am not very good at speeches. I am not very good at thanking people well, either. That’s why Sasha did it for us, really - know that every single thank you she told you is sincerely supported by me, too. I will be giving some separate ones later on, but as for now - hang onto what she said. Because I want to talk about something a little different.”  
“Here it comes”, I whispered, gulping at the heaviness on my throat. Marco squeezed my fingers reassuringly.  
  
“What can I say, really”, Connie wondered, shrugging as he looked around the room. “Most of you know the story of these four chair by my side”, he said, pointing out the empty seats on his right.  
“Truly, it’s a shame it had to come down to this. This is the happiest day of my life, but yet it's clouded by grief and memories of those who never got to see it.”  
The room was silently as he collected his breath, and I could feel the burn on my eyes.  
I didn’t like crying in front of people. I didn’t like crying in funerals. Even less did I like crying in weddings. But I wanted to cry, really, as I looked up to my friend who stood so strong in middle of his sadness.  
What an incredible person he really was. Stronger than many would ever realise.  
  
“I have dreamed of this day since I was a lot younger”, Connie continued. “I told my family about it, and they laughed a little, wishing me luck on ‘fishing out such a big fish’, as they put it. I was pissed at them, just a little - you see, I was fifteen and _so proud_. I knew I wanted to take Sasha to the altar with me, and I sure as hell would show them that I would do it once I grew up, I thought. I’d show you that I’m worth her, I said.  
  
You see. I dreamed of going up to my mum and saying, _‘mum, I am going to propose’_ and see her smile. You know - she promised, when I was a child, that once I truly loved someone, she’d give me her wedding ring to give to my lover. Told me to propose with it once I am sure I’ll be ready to love someone until my dying breath. I was sure I’d do that - propose to her with that ring. I dreamed of it often. I wanted it to happen.  
  
Similarly, I wanted my dad to give me tips on how to propose once I told the big news. I wanted him to give me silly tips about dancing under moonlight and singing serenades, anything that’d ease my nerves. I wanted him to be happy for me and help me to pick out my wedding suit.”  
Sasha reached out for his hand, and nodded at him. I hastily took the chance to dry my cheeks before Connie continued.  
  
“And for my siblings, I wanted them to be happy about it, too. Sunny was always excited when I talked about wanting to marry Sasha because she really loved weddings. She told me, she wanted to be a flower girl in one. So I wanted to give her the prettiest dress of all and those black shoes she always dreamed of having for my wedding, and no matter what, I’d have her as one of our flower girls, I was sure about that. Determined, really. She’d her get her shoes and her position as flower girl, no matter what. So I decided.  
  
As for Martin... I always wanted to have Martin taking me out for a drink to congratulate me. Both because he’d finally be old enough to do so, and because, as he always said, ‘you need to celebrate your last day as a free man with me before marrying her’. He liked Sasha a lot, telling me that she was like a nice sister, really. He said he’d be be happy to be officially related to her.  
  
Of course, I dreamed a lot more than about the wedding, really, because you know me. I like to plan things far ahead and dreamed a lot in secret. I had a speech ready for how I would tell my mother that my wife was pregnant by the age of twelve - I know, I planned it really big”, he laughed, a few chuckles joining him-  
“I’m sure that that speech involved a few fireworks. Well, no matter, since I was a child I had dreamed of things like this. Simple, small things of life like showing my own kids up to my parents. Take them over to them and see how them bicker over which parent the kid resembled more, like I always saw them doing with neighbour’s new kids. Really, I just wanted to show them how I had grown up to be a fine man with a beautiful wife and a fine family of my own. But since the situation turned out the way it did, I had to give up on these dreams.”  
The silence was heavy, only bothered by a few whispered translations and a sniff there and there. Connie smiled at the crowd, letting out a small hum.  
  
“My family might not be present in life in the typical sense anymore”, he then continued. “But they are still alive in the memories and hearts of those who knew them. My family used to be my everything. They still matter very much to me, even after all these years without them. So that’s why, the chairs here are for them. Even thought they couldn’t make it. Which is why I took Sasha to see them”, he smiled, gazing at his wife.  
  
“I don’t want you to misunderstand - it's not like I would feel empty at all now. It's true that there's a lot that I cannot do now that my family has passed away. I can never take my kids to visit my parents to have them be doted. I can never see my mum bawling her eyes out when I tell her that my wife is pregnant. But I have grown to realise that there’s still so much I can get that matters just as much to me as those dreams did.  
  
Even without my family, I can stay by the side of the woman that I do, and always have loved. I can still ask her to marry me - which she said yes to, if someone here didn't yet guess. I can still get  my own family... or no, let me rephrase that. I already have my family with Sasha. But I can still expand it and I will have someone to show my kids to.”  
He turned to Sasha’s parents, nodding at them politely.  
  
“Me and Sasha, we will visit her parents a lot with our children, and the kids grew to be a little bit older, I will take them to meet mine. I will tell them stories about my parents, of Sunny and Martin. Tell them of how I grew up and how their mother always supported me through the hard times.”  
  
He turned back to Sasha, gazing down at her with warmest of smiles.  
“Truly, Sasha has saved me over and over. All the time, every time, since that day we were thirteen and first met. Her first time saving me might have been in a video game battle, but after that it has grown more real. And even now, she’s still saving me, over and over again. I could never thank her enough for that.  
  
So, once we have our kids, I will never stop telling them this. I will tell them, over and over again,  how I came to love her until they tell me that their ears will rot off if I don’t stop. Which is the point where I will tell them how much I love them. I will tell them about how happy I am that I stayed alive to see them grow even thought there was a time when I really wished I hadn't survived that fire. About how happy I am that Sasha was there to pull me out of my darkness when it tried to drown me.  
  
That's why, I am happy now. Yes, I am little sad that I can't show my family all this but... I am happy. I am one of the happiest men that you can find on this Earth, because I have Sash. Because she agreed to walk along this path of life with me. I love her from the bottom of my heart and I could never have wished for more in my life. She’s blushing now - I know she will tell me ‘but Connie, you should have thanked others more in your speech’. But I won’t - since she already thanked all of you rather thoroughly. Sasha - you never ask for thanks from others even when you help us so full heartedly, never asking anything in return. So I am thanking you, Sasha. For letting me love you, and loving me back. For marrying me, and for letting me into your life. Thank you, truly. You have given the best gift in the world with your love.  
  
For the rest of you - thank you for being our friends, my friends or Sasha’s friends. Thank you for supporting me, her, or the both of us. Thank you for making this day possible for us - truly, you have all influenced our lives in your own, important ways. So thank you for coming, and thank you for all your wishes. I am hoping that you all can enjoy the buffet we have to offer to you, and the company of each other on this fine evening. Thank you, truly.”  
With that, he sat down, giving the microphone to Historia who announced the buffet opening in a few minutes, after the couple of honour would have cut the cake.  
  
I caught Sasha’s eyes by waving my hand a little, nodding toward the door. She nodded at me, and waved back, nudging Connie’s arm. He turned to wave at me too, which I answered with a nod of my own.  
“Okay, it’s our cue to go”, I said, standing up. “Lets slip away before the cake hell starts.”  
“Alright”, Marco replied. “I should probably get my stuff from the dressing room.”  
“They are locked now”, I shook my head. “My mum will collect both of our things, it’s okay. You have your camera and keys as we talked, right?”  
“Yes, I have both”, Marco nodded. “All I have there are my casual clothes.”  
“That’ll be fine, then. Now, lets go.”  
  
We made our way for the door as quickly and unnoticeable as possible, and didn’t collect any bad looks after us as we slipped outside. I hope so, at least.  
“Freeedom”, I sighed, lifting my hands up. “No more talking to strangers for one day. Just freedom and time with my boyfriend. It’s fantastic.”  
Marco laughed, shaking his head, not saying anything. But I guess he didn’t need to, not with the way that the smirk he gave me spoke.  
  
Yup.  
Better hurry up home, then.

***

A twenty or so minutes later I was finally in Marco’s room, for the first time after I had picked my things as I moved back to my mother’s. The room was just the same - maybe a few more book piles on the floor than when I was there, but everything was just as comfortably homey.  
  
I left my dress shoes on the floor by a chair I had claimed for my clothes, hearing Marco rustle it the other room, settling down his camera onto its place. I hummed silently, opening my jacket, dropping it off my shoulders and carefully settling to the back of the chair. It was truly a fine suit and I was afraid to ruin it, even thought I wasn’t sure in what I could use it again, I knew I would be using it again. I’d find a way, really.  
I continued undressing by pulling of the socks Connie had chosen for me - they were nice, yes, but I really didn’t feel the need to wear socks on a day as warm as it was. So I dropped them atop my shoes, deciding it would be the best place for storing them, before opening my belt and stepping out of trousers as I heard Marco returning to the room.  
  
I folded my trousers, trying to keep the smirk of my lips because I could feel his stare on my back. The ride back had probably been the most sexually charged situation of my entire life, what with the glances Marco and I stole of each other through the rear view mirror and corners of our eyes, both buzzing with the knowledge of finally being alone, and me finally being declared healthy enough.  
  
I had been a little surprised he hadn’t immediately thrown me against the door, really, but I guess he did treasure his camera enough to take it to a safe distance away before even thinking about touching me. So now that it was safe and sound in the other room, I wasn’t that surprised when Marco stepped behind me once my vest joined the pile on the chair, snaking his hands from my hips up my sides and cross my chest, pulling me thight against his own, still fully clothed form, burying his nose into the crook of my neck, pressing a kiss to the fabric there.  
“Leave the shirt”, he whispered, moving his hands to tug at my tie, his teeth grazing the strip of skin exposed between the collar of my shirt and my jawline. I hummed, letting my hands fall down and back to draw circles on the clothed legs behind me.  
Marco’s nimble fingers didn’t take long to work off my tie, sliding it down my neck, taking it into his hands.  
“Bed”, he whispered, sliding his hands off my person to turn me around. “Lets go to the bed.”  
  
He guided my steps, his hands on my hips, thumbs digging onto the dips of my hipbones as he held me steadily, pushing me backward step by step, his eyes burning on mine. All the way till my legs hit the bed and guided me to sit down, pushing his knees between my legs as he followed me down.  
  
Marco kissed me slowly, almost lazily as he drew his lips around mine as he guided me downwards, guided my head to the pillows and my hands above my head, pushing them gently up with the slide of his gloved hands.  
There was silk against me wrists, and it took me a moment to realise what it meant as it tightened around my skin.  
“Is this okay?” Marco asked, his breath warm against my earlobe, making me shiver as he moved down to nibble at it with his teeth as his fingers left the tie he had tied around my wrists, the silk slick against my skin. A tug revealed me it was tied onto something else, too - the bedpost, I assumed, keeping my hands at their place.  
_Oh my god._  
“Yes”, I choked out, trying to move my hands again. Nothing. The tie was thigh, but not uncomfortable so.  “God, yes, this is okay.”  
Marco let out a breathy laughter against my skin, it’s vibrations resonating on my runaway pulse.  
“Good”, he mumbled, between his dropping kisses moving to the front of my neck as he popped the highest button of my collar open. “That’s good.”  
Another button, another kiss and teeth scraping against my Adam’s apple, then down, down, down to my collarbones where his teeth sank down, bruising me up on all of the best ways, leaving me a pile of whimpering breaths.  
  
Marco’s fingers left the buttons, running down my sides to my thighs, circling them round and lifting my hips to grope around my rear before slipping back to the sides, his fingers hooking to the elastic band of my boxers, pulling them down centimetre by centimetre, freeing me up. His lips followed his hands, down my thighs, all the way to my knees until he backed off enough the pull the boxers completely off my legs. Smiling down at me as his hands, still covered by those damn silk gloves, slowly explored at the skin they could find, back of my knees, up my inner thighs but not touching me where I wanted him to touch me.  
“Marco”, I whined as he leaned up to kiss at my jaw again, his hands rising to my buttons once more. “Marco, please.”  
“M-mm”, he just hummed, closing his lips onto the skin under my collarbones, then up to my scar. Rolling his tongue on a circle, leaving behind a wetted trail of kisses as he slowly, painfully slowly, popped open the next button and followed it down. Breathing air to the wet skin, sending sparkles up my spine and round my whole body, pooling hotness down my stomach.  
  
Marco seemed to be in no hurry, continuing his maddeningly slow pace down my skin, just gazing up to my eyes now and then when a louder gasp or shuttered breath fell of my lips, ignoring my silent plea for him to go faster, stronger. But no, there he was, still maddeningly only dressed out of his shoes, opening the last button just to ignore my pulsing length that it revealed, pushing the shirt to the side as he rose back up with one long, wet stripe licked through the middle of my stomach and chest. Giving me a glance with those burning eyes as his fingers pushed the shirt further away, down my shoulder the little that it’d slide, his tongue licking is way along my collarbone. Biting where bone joined the flesh of my shoulder, before turning to my neck, licking a wet stripe up it. His teeth on my ear, another breathy laughter tickling my jawline as he rounded it with those same wet kisses, up to my other ear. More teeth and nibbling round my piercing, chuckles as he seemed to drink down my curses, my gasps. Those wet touches down my neck and shoulder, along my collarbone, circling up their travel to another wet kiss to the dip between them, his eyes flying up to mine and he smirked, still not saying a word. Not a word after his _good, that’s good_ , and I knew he enjoyed it, the way he was wrecking me down. Overstimulating my poor senses, leaving me a gaping mess of runaway breaths and glares that didn’t even have the power to be glares.  
  
_Please_ , I whispered. _Marco, please._  
His hand fell down my now revealed sides, fingers playing with the dips of my ribs, kisses circling my navel and touches travelling to my thighs once more, but never, not even once did he touch my length, ignoring it’s hardness, ignoring the way I was already leaking. Like there was no need to worry about it, not really, like he didn’t even see it. Circling round it so naturally, only giving it a breath of air as his head moved past as he straightened himself, rising up to his knees. I could see he was hard, his trousers bulging tastily, but he didn’t seem to be bothered enough to even open his belt. Leaving himself completely untouched, driving all attention to me he caressed one of my thighs with both of his hands, slowly bending my leg at the knee and raising it, my sole now in level with his eyes.  
  
He gazed up to me for a while, drawing his fingers down a little before escaping my eyes, fluttering his gaze down in a way that was almost coy, a small smile playing on his lips before he pressed them atop my Achilles tendon. Then, revealing a smirk he licked it, in another stripe downwards. Keeping his eyes on his work, no matter how I shuttered, no matter what little voices left my lips as he travelled downwards. He seemed to be completely lost on his own world, a small hum at the back of his throat as he kissed his way down to the arch of my calf.  
  
Then, without much of a warning, his eyes flew back to mine, a smirk drawing laughter lines to the corners of his eyes.  
And his tongue pressed to the backside of my knee, milking a stuttering gasp of my lips and making my back arch unwillingly.  
_My. God._  
His tongue, rolling across the sensitive skin and I thought I’d _explode_ , my breath stuck in my throat and my head clouded with haze. My thigh under his fingers, and soon his lips, was shaking, _trembling_ , and I couldn’t think, couldn’t talk, _Ma-marco, Marco p-p-lease, oh mygod Marco_  
his eyes stayed on mine, his lips travelling forward, closer and closer, until his nose was buried on the dip of my groin, his cheek brushing my aching length.  
Another of those little laughs against my trembling body and his eyes burned on mine as he rose up a finger, just one silk covered finger and pressed it against my skin, sliding it up the underside of my cock.  
  
Stars exploded, or so I thought, and I was coming onto his hand from that one single stripe of touch, my back arched up and his name struck on the whining gasp of breath, shuttering out in parts. My thighs jerked involuntarily, my hands tugging at their holds as my eyes rolled closed, useless with my sight blacked out with the sparkling stars of my orgasm.  
  
_God_ , I whined, slowly returning to the trembling world, feeling as slug and powerless as one could be. _What in the holy hell was that, Marco?_  
I opened my eyes, meeting with his. Without a word he lifted his come covered hand up pulled the glove of with his teeth.  
Any other moment, I’d probably have popped a boner. But I was too shaken to even think about being hard again like, probably ever again. Jessus.  
  
I collected my breath, keeping our silent eye contact for a while. Then, looking down South, I could tell Marco was still pitching a tent.  
That, my friends, was unacceptable.  
“Wanna untie me?” I asked.  
“Alright”, Marco nodded. “Just a second.”  
The silk slid of my wrist just as easily as it had captured them, and I pulled my hands down, shaking them little to get the feeling back. Didn’t work too well, really, but it was mostly because I seemed still to be in some post orgasm world that made my body feel somewhat light and foggy at the same time. Too light and somehow _soft_ on the inside, but in a really good way.  
  
I stood up, Marco following me, his eyes studying my expression, seemingly a bit worried. I rose my hands up, reaching up for the skies until I could feel something popping in my shoulder.  
Then, I threw Marco against the wall.  
There was a little surprised grunt in his throat as his back hit the stones, but it was nothing more than that, really. After all, there was no way I could manhandle him, _a vampire_ , even if I had wanted to if he had been against it. Yet, he let me pin him down from his shoulders as I caught his lips to a breathless kiss, giving him a smirk of my own as I unbuckled his belt before dropping down to my knees in front of him.  
_Oh_ , the realisation left his lips in a round voice. _Alright._  
I opened the button of his trousers when his hand touched mine.  
“Wait a second, Jean”, he muttered, rising his hand up and rummaging through his pockets, before pulling out a polka striped foil packet like I had seen before.  
“Umn, Sasha gave me this”, he said, ripping it carefully open before handing the package to me. “She uh, said to stay safe and that... you like mint.”  
“Is it fucking flavoured”, I snorted, pinching the packet between my fore- and middle fingers. “Alright then.”  
  
I pulled down at his zipper, immediately rising my eyes up to his.  
“Errr...” he laughed awkwardly. “Laundry day?”  
So my boy had gone the whole day commando. Alright. Wow.  
“I see”, I hummed, pulling the zipper fully down and pushing the fabric to the side enough to completely free his boner. “Well, it makes this simpler then.”  
I carefully pulled the condom out of it’s packet, pinching the air out the tip, taking a deep breath, concentrating on the mission ahead.  
The condom rolled onto its place easily, easier than I would have thought, really, making Marco’s breath hitch as my fingers rolled it down to the base of his cock.  
  
Giving the situation in front of me a long look, I quietly admitted to myself that yeah, Marco was definitely bigger than I was. I didn’t care, really - Marco seemed to be into my cock rather much just the way it was. What I was more worried about was how I was supposed to do _this_.  
Reading tips about giving someone good head turned out to still leave you blank on the situation itself. I didn’t know where to start - it’s not like I would ever had any experience with receiving or giving anyone a blow job or anything, and the porns I had seen where not too helpful. None of the porn stars had the gag reflex of a normal human being. I was pretty sure they even had more flexible jaws than most people.  
Sadly, I was just a normal boy. Staring at my vampire boyfriend dick for unnecessarily long time.  
“Jean”, he said, his voice a little worried. “You don’t have to, really, you know that right?”  
“Nah”, I said, deciding that, you know, it doesn’t actually matter if I don’t do this perfectly. It’s not like Marco would have any experience on it either. “I’m going to do it.”  
  
I pressed a careful kiss to the tip of his length, then down it. Mentally preparing myself  as the taste of mint slowly filled my mouth as I licked down to his shaft, then back up through the underside of his cock, listening to the pants dropping off his mouth, trying to read through the articles I knew to have devoured in my mind.  
_The spot under the tip._ Oh, that seemed to work, emitting a moan out of him.  
  
A deep breath, and I closed my lips around the tip. It felt so terribly _awkward_ , but not wrong, not really. I just didn’t really know how to do it, rolling my tongue around his length as I took more of in. I had no idea how to breathe right, so that was a struggle, finding my way round it through my nose as I took in more and more of him, swallowing around him. Hollowing my cheeks as the articles said, and the incredible from down Marco’s lips told me I was doing something right.  
  
I looked up to him as I gulped him further down, trying my hardest not to let out the little gagging sound that threatened to escape my lips. Marco had his head leaning against the wall, his eyes closed and brows furrowed. His back and hands pressed flat against the wall, his fingers fidgeting. He was fighting to keep the twitch of his hips under control, it seemed, so he wouldn’t buck up into my mouth. I appreciated it, really, as I hollowed my cheeks the best I could again. It was already hard enough not to choke on him like this, and I didn’t need him to buck forward unexpectedly.  
  
I carefully, but firmly pushed his hips harder against the wall as I popped my head just a little bit further in, feeling the tickle of the coarse black hair before pulling further away. Up and down, again, trying to find a rhythm to my bobbing.  
I didn’t really have time to find it before Marco gasped a loud _oh my god_   though, his hips jerking under my hands as he left out a blubber of whining sounds. The way his cock pulsed in my mouth told me more than well enough that he had came without him vocalising it, so I gave his length a last suck before pulling off, only to realise how hard he was shaking under my hands. Slowly, he slid down the wall until his rear hit the ground, with me helping him not to fall down too fast. He was breathing heavily as he finally opened his eyes, all blown up and hazed from the orgasm as he took my face between his shaking palms - one bare, one still covered by that silk glove - pulling me up to kiss him.  
“You taste like mint”, he chuckled shakily as we separated.  
“I truly wonder why”, I mused, earning a small laugh from his lips.  
“God, Jean”, he sighed, leaning his forehead to mine. “That was... something, really.”  
“I could say the same to you, mister tease”, I hummed, leaning into peck at his lips. “Alright, lets get you cleaned up.”  
“Mm, not just yet”, he hummed. “I just... want to be close to you for a while.”  
“That’s fine”, I smiled. “But let me get rid of this, at least”, I muttered, pulling a bit further away to carefully remove the condom from his softening member, tying it up and throwing it into somewhat the direction of the closest trash can by the balcony door.  
“Alright, then”, I mumbled, turning back to him. “Now it’s fine.”  
  
Marco wrapped his hands around my back, pulling me flush against his chest, his breath on my hair. I carefully wrapped my hands around his suited back the best I could from our positions, leaning my forehead into his still rather rapidly rising chest.  
“Jean”, he whispered. “I have to tell you something.”  
“What is it?”  
“The woman I was talking at the wedding to”, Marco started, hesitating. “The photographer. You remember her?”  
“Yeah, I saw her around doing her job”, I replied, a little confused about where the conversation was going to. “What about her?”  
“She was my sister.”  
  
I pulled away from his chest to look at him, but there were no lies in those chocolate eyes.  
“She was my sister, Jean”, he repeated, his voice dulled with pain. “That was Louise.”


	27. Louise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How many years?  
> How many kisses?  
> How many touches?  
> How much of Jean Kirstein could I steal for myself before he’d be no more?

5 years before,  
1 st of  August,  
Western Trost; home  
  
I might never have been the magic man of good timings, but even I knew my timing was terrible as I let the words fall off my lips.  
“She was my sister, Jean. That was Louise.”  
  
Rule number one: you should not talk about your siblings in post coital situation.  
Rule number two: you should not talk about sad topics in post coital situation.  
Rule number three: you should not bring up your abusive past in post coital situation.  
Reality:  I just broke all three of those rules, while wrapped against my lover, his naked body pressing into my mostly dressed one, definitely in he middle of something that was supposed to be our post coital bliss, and I just _broke_ it.    
  
“Your sister?” Jean asked slowly, as if still unsure of having heard me right.  
“Yes”, I cleared my throat. “My one and only sister.”  
“You mean that was Louise?” he queried, batting his eyes. “But she was, like, not tall?”  
I snorted at his crumpled expression.  
“She’s a woman, Jean.”  
“Women can be tall!”  
“She’s not that short”, I laughed. “And I’m not that tall, in the end.”  
“Well, you are taller than I am.”  
“By like what, two centimetres?”  
“Dunno”, Jean shrugged. “But she was, what, fifteen centimetres shorter than I am?”  
“Probably”, I wondered. “She got her height from mother’s side, whereas she looks more like dad.”  
“Okay”, Jean nodded, his expression then falling serious. “Are you okay? I mean, you wore a rather painful expression back there. And now, if I may add.”  
“I’m okay”, I hummed, slowly bumping my forehead onto his. “Or, well, kind of.”  
“Do you wanna talk about it?”  
“Yeah, but maybe we should... change into sleep clothes or something.”  
“What, you don’t fancy a _Nujean_ on your lap?”  
“Leave puns to Sasha, please.”  
“Oh come on”, Jean sighed. “It wasn’t that bad. _Nudean_?”  
“No. No Jean, no. It was terrible.”  
“What about _Ju_ -”  
“Astonishingly horrifying, Jean. Get dressed so I can sob sad stories into your shoulder.”  
“Alright alright”, Jean muttered, untangling his limbs from mine. “I think the shower can wait until morning.”  
“Probably”, I replied, standing up. As Jean hunted round for his boxers, I stripped out of my remaining clothes and fished for the shorts I had slept on the night before, pulling them on. Then, waiting for Jean to be ready, we climbed onto my bed.  
  
We were silent for a moment as we shuffled around looking for a good pose, ending up with me leaning my head onto Jean’s chest and his hands on my hair.  
“So”, he said, chest vibrating under my ear. “Louise.”  
“Yeah”, I replied, wondering about how well he could feel the motions of my mouth with my cheek pressed against him. “Louise.”  
“So she’s a photographer.”  
“Yeah”, I replied again. “She is. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”  
“Why?”  
“She was the one who taught me photography.”  
“Oh”, Jean muttered. “That’s... hmm. How do you... feel about it?”  
“I don’t know. I mean, sure she was the one to teach me the basics of it, but I fell for photography myself.”  
“I was thinking more along the lines of ‘how do you feel about meeting her’ than ‘how do you feel about the connection of your possible future occupation matching your long lost sister’s, Marco.”  
“Oh”, I muttered. “Well I’m... surprised? Sasha told me the photographer is the one Krista and Ymir used for their catalogue, but the name of the catalogue photographer definitely wasn’t my sister’s.”  
“Did she change her name?” Jean asked, his fingers in my hair halting for a moment. I shrugged.  
“Maybe, or then she uses a stage name.”  
Jean took a deep breath, blowing air steady through his lips before he spoke up.  
“Do you want to talk about her? About you two? Your family?”  
I looked up to him to find him gazing at me worriedly. I wanted to kiss the worry away from his lips, but I knew that wouldn’t do it.  
  
So I smiled at him, rose my fingers to play with that gnarled scar of his and I told him about us, about Louise and me, about sister and brother that were and of what was lost.  
He listened, in silence, running his fingers across my scalp, his other hand pulling me closer, closer and closer. All the way till he was wrapped round me, his jaw gently pressed to my hair, his hands on my back, surrounding me, protecting me.  
  
And he listened,  
and he listened,  
until there were no words left in me,  
and I was falling fast asleep in his arms.

***

The thing with me and Louise was that we used to be inseparable.  
Best of best friends. Close enough to talk about anything, really. Close enough for Louise to tell me when her period started and ask me to get her chocolate when she craved it. That, and other things. We didn’t really have secrets between us, and the walk-in closet between our rooms was just a shortcut for seeing each other.  
So it was no wonder Louise was the first one to ever notice that I might not be straight.  
  
I was eleven, she was thirteen. We were on the beach together, me and her, laying together on a big towel that secured us from the sand below, letting the sun dry our salted skins. I was reading, and she was sunbathing, with a comfortable silence between us when she nudged my side.  
“Look, Marco”, she whispered. “That guy over there wearing blue swim trunks is sooo cute.”  
I rose my eyes and followed her gaze, finding the target of her admiration easily. The guy was a brunette, probably around Louise’s age, with spiked hair and a lopsided smile and scarred eyebrow.  
“Oh”, I replied, letting my gaze fall back to my book. “Yeah, he is cute.”  
At that Louise snapped her head towards me.  
“What?” I asked, confused by her stare.  
“You really think he’s cute?” she asked, her eyes keen on me with her brows knitted together.  
“Yeah”, I nodded. “He’s cute.”  
“Are you”, she asked, tilting her head a little as she thought it through. “Well, do you want to date boys?”  
“I don’t know about dating”, I replied, shrugging. “It sounds troublesome. Not to mention I’m too young for it anyway. But boys are cute, yeah.”  
“What about girls? Do you want to date girls?”  
“No”, I replied. That one was easy to reply. Louise was cool but other girls just... weirded me out.  
“Huh”, Louise replied, letting her eyebrows rise back to their place. “I guess you’re gay, then.”  
“Could be”, I shrugged. “Never really thought about it that much.”  
“How lazy can you get?” Louise sighed dramatically. “How can you _not_ think about being gay?”  
“Well I have always liked boys”, I pondered. “I never thought I needed to give that any special thought. I just like them.”  
  
Louise swallowed my words for a while, playing with the strap of her red and white dotted bikini, her teeth caressing her lip and her brows knitting back together.  
“I guess it makes sense”, she then said. “I mean, I knew I liked boys without any special thought, too. I never had to think about it.”  
“See”, I shrugged. “That’s what I mean. Can I read now?”  
“Yeah”, she replied. “But... don’t tell our parents. Not yet, at least.”  
“Tell them what?”  
“That you are gay.”  
“Ah”, I sighed. “I know that much. I have ears.”  
“Just be careful, Marco”, she said, glancing at me. “Dad can be scary when he’s angry.”  
“I know that, too. I’ll take care of myself.”  
“Good”, she smiled. “Just know that I don’t mind. Or, well, I don’t mind as long as you don’t steal any boys from me.”  
“I won’t. Can I please read now, I’m in the middle of a battle scene.”  
“Yeah, sure.”  
“Thanks.”  
“You’re welcome.”  
  
Was I thanking her for the permission to read or for her acceptance, I wasn’t sure.  
Maybe it was both.  
Now that I think about it, it probably was both.  
  
The relationship between me and Louise had always been close and easygoing - we didn’t really do that whole sibling rivalry thing, nor did we fight a lot. We were both quiet kids - easy even, you could say. Our interest mostly laid on the nature around us and on the stories our mother would read to us. I mean, we certainly weren’t perfect kids - we had our hypes (Louise was the worst once she ate too much sugar and I admit I would get grumpy without my cookies) and bad days, but in the end, we were nice kids. The kind our parents could be proud about.  
  
Louise was always a trustworthy girl - when she was eight, she’d walk me to school every morning she could, holding my hand and making sure I would stay safe. When she was twelve, she’d cook for both of us when our parents didn’t come home until late at night. When she was fifteen, just before everything went wrong, my parents didn’t hesitate to leave her alone with the thirteen year old me for a week when they traveled to Greece by themselves.  
  
She was also beautiful, naturally athletic and good at school and she had remarkable manners - she was exactly what a parent could want in a child. Louise was strong, but more importantly she was kind and caring. She helped me with my homework, stood up for me at school and she held my secrets without a hint of hesitation. She accepted me just as I was - her little brother, not very good at languages, gay, and steadily growing taller than her.  
  
This all, naturally, was before dad happened.  
Because after dad, she grew steadily colder and further from me, all the way until that slap finally cut any voluntary contact she gave me. Then, on the April before my 18th birthday, she disappeared, leaving behind a handwritten letter of curses with my parents name atop it, pile of clothes and a few books. Not a single word for me, no address, no number, no nothing. In one night she was gone, cut out of my life with her own decision.  
I understood her. Yet, I felt betrayed.  
But I forgave her, because I understood her, whether I liked it or not.  
I would just have dragged her behind. Me, and my dog. She didn’t need us to drag her back.  
Needless to say, I was sure she was gone for good from my life - after all, she had abandoned her family and she wouldn’t be coming back. I knew her well enough to know that much.  
  
I wasn’t brave like Louise, I had never been. So even when my 18th birthday rolled by, even when I graduated, even when Korppi died, I stayed in place in that house with dimmed love. Stayed till I died.  
  
I never expected to see her again. The least at that wedding. When she bumped into my back as I was photographing the high set glass windows of the celebration hall, I would never have dreamed to hear her voice.  
“Oh, I beg pardon”, she had apologized immediately at the contact, flinching away from the touch before I even had time to turn to look at what had happened and who had collided with me.  
“I’m terribly sorry, I was concentrated on taking pictures so I didn’t look where I was go- wait, Marco?”  
_Anticlimactic_ , really. But that’s what she said.  
I was frozen in place, with shocked silence between us until she found it in herself to continue.  
“Oh my god, Marco is it really you?”  
  
I recognized her voice - how could I not have, really - but I didn’t want to believe it. Yet I slowly willed myself to face her, with the wish of misunderstanding on my lips, sewing up any possible excuses I could come up with. But it was useless, for I found myself at a loss for words as I saw her face.  
“It’s really you”, she breathed, raising her delicate hand up to her mouth. Blue nails. She hated blue, she always had, but she had always been so professional, following whatever dress code she had been given to the max.  
“Louise”, I finally breathed out, running my eyes over her. Blue shirt, white skirt, camera in her hands and another hanging from the belt on her hips. Same shade of brown on her hair as always, braided round her head and adorned by a black bow. She looked older, more mature.  
“It’s.... been a while”, I offered, not knowing what else to do. There she was, in front of me, and I didn’t even know how to look at her, less how to talk to her.  
“I’m so sorry”, she breathed out as I counted, yeah, seven years, it had been seven years since she left.  
“Oh my god I’m so sorry Marco, I’m so so sorry I’m-”  
“Louise, calm down, it’s -”  
“No”, she snapped, shaking her head. There were tears in her eyes, brown like mine but darker. No freckles on her skin this year either, I noted. She had always been jealous of mine.  
“You were a kid”, I said, raising my hand between us. “Don’t blame yourself.”  
“Why are you in Trost, Marco?” she asked, then, with horror in her eyes, she continued: “You aren’t with them anymore, are you?”  
“No”, I shook my head. “Mum and dad they... don’t live here anymore.”  
“Oh god”, Louise whispered. “I’m... I couldn’t... I’m... I’m glad you are at least away from them.”  
“Yeah”, I replied awkwardly. What was I supposed to say? I felt blank - not sad, not angry, not happy - just blank, blank blank. I didn’t want to blame her, I didn’t want to not blame her. I didn’t know what to think.  
  
“I..” she started again, lowering her eyes. “You, um, are also into photographing?”  
“Just unprofessionally”, I replied, looking down to my camera. “The couple requested it.”  
“You are friends with them?”  
“Not exactly”, I shook my head. “But I’m dating the best man.”  
“Oh”, she whispered. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.”  
“Thank you. What about yourself?”  
“Not married if that’s what you thought”, she laughed awkwardly, touching her ear. Nervous habit. “I had someone but we broke up a while back. It’s alright thought, I don’t mind being single.”  
“That’s good”, I replied. “I mean, the fact that you don’t mind being alone.”  
“Yeah, I guess so”, she smiled. “Maybe it is so.”  
  
She lifted her eyes onto mine once more, her brows knitted like years and years before on that beach. Worried.  
“I know I have no right to do this”, she started, her mouth in a smile that wasn’t a smile. “That I  lost all my rights to call you my brother the day I abandoned you. You probably don’t but... if you ever find yourself wanting to talk to me, I... here”, she ended in a mutter, pressing a business card she pulled from the little purse on her belt to my hand. I guess it was a Bott thing, then. Giving business cards around, that’s it.  
“You can call or email me or whatever”, she said, and her touch didn’t linger. Her eyes weren’t on mine anymore, either, and her voice was terribly small, almost completely drowning in the cheers that started. “Or you can throw it away. I don’t blame you if you do.”  
A look at me, then towards the cheers, towards what I assumed to be the return of the couple of honour. I pushed the card she gave me to my trouser pocket when she wasn’t looking.  
“It’s up to you”, she then said, turning to me one last time. “Take care, Marco.”  
“Take care, Louise.”  
  
A nod.  
And she was gone, replaced with the boy I knew so well.  
“Is everything alright? Did she say something to you?”  
A tilt of head and worried eyes, new to the scene, unknowing. Clueless.  
“Oh, no no”, I shook my head, for it felt better to lie.“I’m alright.”  
I was, really.  
Since he was there to keep me afloat.

***

5 years before,  
14 th of  September,  
Trost ; center  
  
Jean looked good in his black apron with a big ‘M’ embroidered across its chest.  
“Hello, flower boy”, I greeted him. Jean slowly rose his eyes from the folder in his hands, his lips relaxing into a smile as he saw me.  
“Well hello, coffee boy”, he greeted me back, taking the coffee I offered him gladly. “You are a saint, you know that?”  
“Of course”, I replied, looking around the shop to notice he was alone. “Where’s Mark?”  
“In the back room”, Jean replied, raising the cup to his lips with a satisfied hum. “Planning wedding flowers with someone.”  
“So you are handling the shop alone already?” I asked, tugging my jacket open. The wind outside had been chilling, but the shop itself was warm as always. Jean shook his head and took another gulp of his coffee (mocha with peppermint) before replying.  
“Not really. Rico’s just on her lunch break”, he shrugged. “So I’m alone for that time only. Mark told me to get him if someone asks something I don’t know how to reply.”  
“Hoo, I see”, I replied, then nodded towards the folder he had closed. “Are you perhaps learning flower names from that?”  
“Not only the names”, Jean sighed. “Also care instructions, whether the plant is poisonous for humans and animals or not and guess what - all that in two languages because Mark is really pleased about having someone who can actually speak Swedish here.”  
“Well, on the positive side he’s not asking you to learn it in French, too.”  
“Don’t say that when he’s in hearing range”, Jean hissed. “Or he’ll actually make me do it.”  
“I’m closing the metaphorical zipper of my lips”, I promised, pulling my fingers horizontally across my lips to illustrate the motion. “How have you liked work so far?”  
“Well, it’s been okay”, Jean mumbled, taking another sip of his coffee. “Minus the fact I slept in and had to skip my morning coffee. Thanks a lot for keeping me awake at night.”  
“Awww hun, don’t be angry”, I laughed, reaching to run my fingers through his tawny hair. “I brought you coffee in the end like a good boyfriend, didn’t I?”  
“You did”, he muttered, leaning into the touch. “But yeah, work’s been okay. I guess the helping out in the actual garden thing might fit me better, but I’m starting to get the hang of this whole bouquet making business. I get hit on, too. Girls like me.”  
“Yeah,  you are popular”, I hummed, then smirked. “Sadly for them you are also taken.”  
“Not sadly for me”, he yawned, pulling me closer by the hems of my jacket and nuzzling his nose to my stomach.  
“Uh oh, what are you doing, Jean?”  
“Recharging.”  
“Recharging how?”  
“In Marco-energy:”  
“What are you, an energy eating vampire?” I teased him, running my fingers along the short hair at the back of his neck.  
“Say that again and I’ll bite you.”  
“Energy sucking vampire?”  
  
He bit me.

***

Apricot stones dipped in gold,  
a scenery of greens and yellow,  
puffed breaths and song of hummingbirds.  
  
Feet dipped in the starry seas,  
washing over bare toes  
a laugh of fishes  
that blue suit on her frame.  
“It’s been a while”, she said, bubbles in the air and confusion in her eyes. “What is this place, Jean?”  
  
Jean stood still by me  
naked chest and dangling dog tags  
black slacks and raise of an eyebrow  
“Why are you asking me?”  
  
Confusion, there in her eyes  
on the the tilt of his head  
on my mind.  
  
Black birds flying by  
shattering into laces of notes  
unsung songs raining down on us.  
  
I gazed between  the two of them, and it was like a mass of water was riding my insides, swelling around and making me seasick from inside out.  
“Which one of you initiated this?”  
“She.”  
“He”.  
Pointed fingers on each other, then surprised gazes.  
“Oh”, I muttered, “okay.”  
“It wasn’t you?” Jean asked Historia and she shook her head.  
“It wasn’t you?” she repeated the question at Jean. He shook his head.  
  
Eyes turning round to me  
stars tickling at my feet  
question clear on their lips.  
“No”, I sighed, shaking off black notes. “I’m not part of your funky club.”  
  
Withering smile and stiffening shoulders  
sigh from the lips that I so loved .  
“Well, as far as I can tell, I didn’t do this”, he told us, eyebrows weighed down. “What took you two months, Historia?”  
“I never seemed to sleep when you did”, she replied, biting down onto her lip with hesitant voice. “But I didn’t commence this either, as far as I know. I’ve never seen this place before.”  
“Maybe it’s some kind of mind clash of yours?” I offered. “A mix of what you two imagined.  
“I don’t know”, Historia hesitated. “I don’t like this place.”  
“Why?”  
“It reeks like death.”  
  
She seemed to be serious, with her hands hugging her shoulders as if she was cold, her eyes reckless on the apricot seeds and shadows of the waves.  
Yet, all I could smell were pines,  
blueberry ice cream  
and a peck of whipped cream.  
  
“It smells like mint to me”, Jean said, looking round, the stars pooling up to his ankles as he moved. “But that doesn’t matter. Get us out of here.”  
“I can’t.”  
“Huh?”  
“I tried”, Historia said. “I can’t. I’ve tried my hardest to move us to the Blue Moon, but I can’t.”  
  
There was a silence like never before,  
the waves on my feet muted away.  
Wash of stars, stars, stars.  
  
“I can’t move us either”, Jean whispered, as if scared of breaking the fragile air. “I don’t even know how it’s exactly done but... I tried.”  
“You imagine a place really hard, and you’ll move there. At least, usually.”  
“Yeah, it doesn’t work”, Jean replied, shaking his head. “I can’t do it.”  
“Maybe”, I started, hesitant. “Maybe we are in my head?”  
  
Curious eyes.  
“So-”  
“No”, I said. “I definitely didn’t start this dream. But this place feels familiar to me.”  
“Familiar?” Historia asked and I nodded.  
“Yes- Furthermore”, I spoke up, pointing my finger at Jean. “Mint reminds you of me, doesn’t it?”  
“Eh”, Jean sputtered.” Uh. Yes? I guess?”  
“And you”, I continued, turning to Historia. “You always link me to death.”  
“That’s correct”, she admitted, her eyes narrowed at concentration as she listened, trying to figure it out.  
“And as for me”, I added, turning the blaming finger at myself. “For me this place smells heavenly.”  
“Huh”, Historia muttered, rising her forefinger to tap on her lips. “So maybe we need a place you know well enough?”  
“It’s a theory, yeah.”  
“Think about one, Marco. A place you know very well.”  
“Jean”, I said, turning to him as if I hadn’t even heard her. “Take us to the apple tree.”  
Jean blinked under my gaze once, twice, before collecting himself and nodding.  
“Roger that”, he hummed, closing his eyes. I followed suit.  
  
As I reopened them, the water had turned into grass below me as I sat down onto that branch. The one where I had kissed Jean, the one where he had left his mark for me.  
Wind on the leaves and the scent of Spring flowers.  
It was warm, and I watched silently as Historia shrugged off her suit jacket.  
“Alright”, she said, sitting down to her own branch, opposite of me and Jean. “This all makes me feel incredibly stupid.”  
“Why?”  
“Because I have been doing this for  ages”, she muttered. “And I never understood why I can’t move people to other places sometimes. And you might just have explained it.”  
“Well, I thought about Skype calls and how one computer has to host the call”, I shrugged. “And thought that maybe it works similarly with minds and these weird dreams.”  
“Trust Marco to mix up modern technology with weird ass mental communication to get it to make sense”, Jean snorted from aside, but his voice sounded a little proud. “You learn new things all the time, it seems.”  
“Not very often at my age”, Historia sighed, leaning her head against the trunk of the tree.  
  
Singsongs, birds and bees round us.  
“How old are you?”  
“You aren’t supposed to ask a lady’s age, boy.”  
“Sorry to say”, I scoffed. “But I don’t really think of you as a lady.”  
“Heh”, she smiled. “Well, then - around two thousand four hundred twenty seven years.”  
“That was rather specific for ‘about’”, Jean commented, squinting. “Seriously, tho - that much?”  
“No”, Historia smirked. “One thousand, six hundred and forty nine years, to be honest.”  
“Well, what ever”, Jean shrugged. “You are terribly old anyway.”  
“Jean”, I warned, but Historia just shook her head, little sparkles glittering around her.  
“It’s the truth that I am terribly old, so I don’t mind.”  
“Alright”, I replied. “Well. Jean told me about you. A... what should I call you? Pure blood vampire?”  
“I don’t know”, she shrugged. “Anything works.”  
“Well, then - are there others like you left?”  
  
Historia straightened herself, crossing her hands on her lap, thinking.  
“Vampires that weren’t born from humans?” she then wondered, lowering her eyes with a little sigh. “No. As far as I am aware, I’m the last one of my kind.”  
“Another question - how did you find out that you can turn humans?”  
“Ymir”, she replied, a smile on her little lips.  
“Ymir?” Jean butted in, confused. Historia smiled with a nod.  
“Ymir is the first human I ever turned. Or, should I say, she turned herself.”  
  
I exchanged an equally confused look with Jean.  
“Sorry but - turned herself?”  
“Yes”, Historia nodded. “She was - is - a witch. She got curious about what my blood could do, and made a few experiments and... yeah.”  
“Are you telling me she stuck your blood into her own bloodstream?”  
“She, ah”, Historia laughed. “She had a cut in her palm. She wanted to see if my blood had healing qualities since I healed so fast myself.”  
“So what”, Jean mumbled, disbelief in his voice. “First even human born vampire was turned by her own mistake?”  
“Correct.”  
“What the hell”, he mused. “What a freaky accident.”  
“You know”, Historia said, her eyes sad, distant. “I thought that I killed her. When she..  yeah, I was sure she was dying, really.”  
“Oh, that must have-”  
“Sucked”, Historia ended the sentence herself. I gulped down my _’been hard on you’_ , letting her have it her way.  
“But you know”, she continued. “That was then and this is now. Shouldn’t we be talking about something else than things past?”  
“If you are referring to me, I still am just a dying human as far as I am informed”, Jean stated tiredly.  
Flowers withering with his smile.  
“And I don’t know why I was able to get into your heads like that.”  
“Ah, that’s a shame”, Historia muttered. “It has been bugging me.”  
“Us all”, I whispered, unable to stop myself from saying it.  
Jean’s shoulders stiffened again.  
  
“I think I should go”, Historia said after a little pause, yawning. “I can feel Ymir trying to wake me up, so it must be morning.”  
“Then, wake up”, Jean said.  
“Oh, I will.”  
  
I don’t know if she woke up, but I did.  
I asked Jean about the dream when he woke.  
He barely remembered it this time, so I let it be, gulping down all questions that I had had, kissing his cheek instead.  
  
_What are you, Jean?_  
_How do you feel when people keep asking you these things?_  
_Were you hurt as I referred to you as part of the ‘funky club’?_  
_Are you ever scared because of all that’s happening?_  
  
_And most importantly,_  
_when do they think you’ll die?_

***

5 years before,  
19th of  November,  
Eastern Trost ; Jean’s home  
  
The streets had turned white overnight. It wasn’t much of a surprise  - I mean, it was already November, after all. But the snowfall hadn’t ceased and the big, fluffy flakes were still slowly swaying their way down from the low settled clouds to the ground below.  
  
I settled the scarf better around my neck and checked  the time from my watch - 18:01, Jean should be ending his shift now. I didn’t bother going inside to the little flower shop in the fear of having enough time to get too hot on the inside warmth, so I settled to stand by its corner. Looking at the snowflakes falling past the street lights and the darkness behind them.  
  
I kind of missed sunlight now that it was sparse - a few hours of daylight a day didn’t really give you much time to enjoy it, especially when that whole time the sky had been covered in clouds. But I did like winter, even more now that I was a vampire since it was convenient for me. I couldn’t get frostbite, I could feel the cold but did not _feel_ cold and there was no need to worry about sunlight. It was useful, really. But I still missed the way the sun would kiss my skin with its warmth, the way it’d reflect on waters and light things up. Missed not waking up to the darkness and falling asleep to the darkness.  
  
I leaned against the cold wall, closing my eyes.  
Jean had told me that he liked winter per se, but that he hated the cold. He said that it wasn’t easy being skinny in cold climate - you got chilly much easier.  
I didn’t ask him if it was an excuse to cover up the fact it had something to do with his heart.  
But he said that he liked winter sports - liked ice skating, like skiing, even. Liked how he could visit the islands on the shore. Told me that we should walk to one and make a fire, sit on its warmth and come back. I said, sure, lets. Once the ice is thick enough.  
  
I sighed, slipping my gloved hands down my pockets and hiding my jaw deeper into the softness of the knit scarf. Annie had given it to me the Christmas before - hell, she had given all of us in the house matching blue scarves. It was almost scary how good she was at knitting - she had knitted numerous shirts and even a dress for herself, countless woolly socks and what not. She told me it relaxed her, that she didn’t have to think when she knit, that she could get lost in counting the stitches, lost in the mechanical work of twisting the knitting needles. I told her that she was great at it and that she should keep on doing it. She said that she’d keep doing it even if she was terrible at it, but thanked me for liking her work with a soft smile. She was getting softer with time, that girl, I thought, clearly remembering the cold worded and snarly girl I had first met two years ago. The one with tired eyes and long sleeves hiding the still fading bruises, the one who trusted no one.  
It was good. She was healing now that she was safe.  
  
I opened my eyes, looking at the lights again, at the girl walking past them. Blonde hair, but darker than Krista’s, and she was taller. Nevertheless, she reminded me of her. Her and her absence.  
All contact we had had with her since the wedding was that one dream in October, and it was getting frustrating. We wanted more information. I wanted more information.  
  
I wanted her to tell me what was wrong with Jean. What he is, as she always asked herself. I wanted her and her thousand year experience and her witch wife to find it out for me.  
I wanted to know what was going on.  
  
Sure,  I loved Jean, and I wouldn’t care if it turned out that he was half a buffalo - okay, I would care a little, but that’s besides the point - I just wanted to know. I wanted to know what the boy that I loved was. If he didn’t know the reply himself, then hell, someone should tell him.  
  
I was scared. Just a little. Of him and the way he had ran into my head without any warning that day and how he had walked through my memories as if it was nothing. As if I hadn’t tried to prevent it, hadn’t tried to hide them. He had seen the pooling blood at my feet and the raindrops of red down my skin, but he never asked me about it.  
I’m not sure if I wanted him to ask about it, wanted to know just how much he knew.  
It’s just - I never told anyone about it, not really.  
And he rummaged it out from my memories, whether he wanted it or not. What was scary was the knowledge that he could probably do it again - expose everything, all the ugly and scarred memories I hid.  
Memories of kissing boys on the playgrounds after school, and memories of laughing them off as they asked me out. Memories of the knives, of the pain and how it surpassed the one on my soul, of the way a kiss could dull that pain and of how a bottle of whiskey coloured like his eye did the same. Of how easy the men at the clubs were when you just swayed your hips the right way and licked your lips as they looked at you, of how they would buy you round after round if you just let their hands sit a bit too friendly on your leg, petting it up and down and close and closer to your crotch. How they would get even more generous if you let their finger slip under your shirt and let them travel up your back.  
  
All those memories I wasn’t proud of.  
Sides of me I never wanted him to find out about.  
He could find out about all of it if he did it again.  
  
The little chink of the bells warned me about the inner door of the shop being opened before the outer one was pushed open, revealing a warmly - maybe even overly so - dressed Jean, with his mostly black-everything winter clothes.  
“Yo”, he called out to me as he let the door close behind himself, walking up to me. “Did you wait long? You could have come inside.”  
“Nah”, I hummed, taking his hand and giving him a small peck on the lips. “It was peaceful here.”  
“Don’t you mean ‘cold’?” Jean asked, shuttering dramatically. “I want back inside as fast as possible.”  
“The coffee place is a ten minute walk from here, so you better survive that long.”  
“What a drag”, he whined but smiled a little, his breath white little clouds. It wasn’t cold enough yet for my breath to do the same. “Should we go?”  
“Yeah”, I nodded, letting his other hand go as I swept my eyes over his being. “But where’s your reflector, Jean?”  
“It fell off”,  he shrugged. “I don’t know if it was on my way to work or already at home. None can do, I’ll attach another one once I get home.”  
“Nah, no way you are walking without one”, I told him, letting go of his other hand, too. “You can have the one on my bag since I have two on.”  
“It’s fine I-”  
“I don’t care”, I stopped him. “I’m not risking you getting hit by a car just because you don’t have your reflector. Here, put it on.”  
  
Jean took the reflector I handed him and attached the little white ghost to the right hem of his jacket, then offering his hand to me once more. I took it, and we walked down the street slowly covering more and more up in the snow, stopping a few times to point out constellations we could recognize as they peeked from between the clouds.  
His hand on mine was warm even through his thin gloves.  
I never wanted that street to end.  
But soon, way too soon, we stepped into the warmth of the little coffee shop.  
  
He held my hand under that table, as he drank his coffee and I my water, exchanging small smiles, silently talking about his work, about the photography course I had picked up - Jean still not knowing what ISO meant -about Sasha and Connie, about the coffee and about little things at home. I told him about how Annie was away visiting Armin, and about how Reiner and Bertolt had been just as disgustingly cute a couple as any other day.  Jean told me about a flower arrangement he had messed up, about his mother’s growing excitement for Christmas (‘For fuck’s sake, it’s still November and she’s already blasting the ‘100 golden Christmas hits’ from her stereos every day! I’m gonna barf if I hear Frank Sinatra or Elvis singing White Christmas once more this week.’) and about the painting he was working on (another illustration for Mark). He tried to hide it the best he could, it seemed, but I noticed it - the way his eyebrow sometimes twitches and how his hand inched towards his chest, once even touching it as he talked, keeping his best smile on.  
  
I didn’t say anything inside the shop, but once we had pulled our jackets back on and headed outside, I didn’t hesitate to ask him about it.  
“So, your heart hurts?”  
Jean left out a sputtering sound, whipping his head to stare at me with his mouth fallen open. It was almost comical, really.  
“Wha- why do you think so?” he asked, trying to turn my question back at me.  
“You kept almost touching your chest”, I replied coolly, keeping my eyes steady on his. “And your face looked painful a few times.”  
“Shit”, Jean murmured, sighing. “I tried... um.”  
“You tried to hide it from me.”  
“Yeah.”  
“Why?”  
  
Jean looked down, blowing air slowly through his lips. It wasn’t snowing anymore, and the clear starry sky could be seen through the cracks on the clouds and the air was getting steadily colder. Even my breath turned into little white clouds now, and after a while he finally gazed up to me.  
“I didn’t want to worry you.”  
“Mission failed, Kirstein.”  
“Sorry”, he muttered, bringing his hand up to his scarf. “It’s not that I don’t trust you or anything. It's just something that happens now and then - has been happening for a few years - so I... I know what it is and that nothing bad will happen. I didn’t want to worry.”  
“Can I ask you something?”  
His eyes studied mine, wary at the tone that had taken over my voice; rasped and serious in a way he wasn’t used to. He nodded slowly, lowering his hand down.  
“Sure”, he said, eyes locked onto mine. “Go on.”  
“You have a lifetime estimation, don’t you? And don’t you sass me and tell me that all of us have one based where we live. I mean a personal one, because of your condition.”  
  
The silence hang heavy, but I didn’t let his gaze go.  
More of white little puffs formed as he opened his mouth and replied:  
“I have.”  
“How long?”  
“How long what”" he asked, kicking at the snow.  
“How long until they think you will die?”  
  
Jean shifted his weight from one leg to another, giving the snow another kick. It didn’t do too much, just send some sparkling flakes up into the air and back to the ground. Worthless, melting diamonds in the night.  
“Five... no”, he muttered, burrowing his brows. “It’s closer to four than five years now. Something between that. That’s what they guessed last time we talked about it.”  
“Four years”, I repeated. He nodded silently.  “Alright.”  
“They aren’t sure though”, Jean added. “Because they don’t... know. But last Spring, they said ‘five years if we don’t find out a way to help’. And since I had my attack after that, they said that it... doesn’t make the expectation any better. So honestly? I don’t know if it’s even four years now.”  
“How do you feel about it?”  
  
Jean’s gaze snapped back to mine, his mouth slowly falling open.  
“What do I...” he mumbled, staring at me. “Feel? About it?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Well I think it’s fucking unfair.”  
His eyes were challenging on mine, and I didn’t know what to say. What can you say? I knew well enough not to say sorry - he had expressed well enough what the thought of those words when I first tried to offer them to him. What do you say to someone that’s dying? How do you comfort them?  
Especially, how do you do when you want to cry yourself?  
“Yeah”, I whispered. “All these kids out there who want to die, and yet the ones who end up dying have to be the ones who want to live.”  
“I didn’t-”  
“No, sorry”, I shook my head. “That sounded wrong. I’m not trying to make this about me. I just don’t know what to say.”  
“You don’t have to say anything really.”  
His lips rose to a small, sad smile.  
“It’s enough that you listen when I talk. Listen to me, and hold my hand when I’m scared - that’s all I’m asking for.”  
“That”, I replied. “That much I can promise you.”  
He leaned in to kiss me, and I replied with gentle lips.  
  
Between four and five years, or even less.  
That’s how much time we had left to love.

***

5 years before,  
26th of  November,  
Western Trost; home  
  
The business card seemed to stare at me, it’s whiteness a great contrast to my dark wooded table.  
“Louise Niva“, I read aloud, running my fingertips over the printed name. “That surname doesn’t fit you very well.”  
  
I typed in six numbers, nil four nil seven two one,  before I exited the new call screen.  
  
Maybe another day.

***

5 years before,  
6 th of  December,  
Western Trost; home  
  
“Hi Marco, it’s lovely to see you again.”  
“Hello, Mrs Kirstein.”  
“You can call me Maria”, she smiled as she stepped to the side to let me in. “I’m happy that you could make it to celebrate with us.”  
“It’s my pleasure, Maria”, I smiled. “Here, this is for you.”  
  
She took the bag I extended to her carefully, surprised smile on her lips. “What’s this about?”  
“Little birds sang that it’s double celebration time today”, I smiled. “Happy birthday, and happy independence day to you. That’s my present for you.”  
“Oh, you didn’t have to”, she smiled, cracking open the bag. “Wine?”  
“Jean told me you have a taste for white wine, so I got my hands on one that I love.”  
“I have never tasted this one before”, she hummed, turning the bottle around in her hands. “Where did you find it?”  
“I have friends in Hungary”, I simply replied, leaning down to open my shoe laces. “It’s a sweet dessert wine, and it’s best served cold.”  
“Noted”,  Maria nodded, slipping the bottle back to its back. “I’ll make sure to cool it down properly, then, so we can enjoy it after dinner.”  
“About dinner-” I started, but Maria rose her hand to silence me then.  
“Jean told me that you really liked the blood pancakes you ate here once.”  
“Oh”, I muttered, a little shocked by her interruption. “Yes, they were really delicious.”  
“He has also explained to me that you have a lot of allergies”, she continue with a smile. “But that gluten free blood pancakes are fine. So we decided to eat them tonight - Jean made you separate ones, super gluten free, and he said something about garlic, I think?”  
Jean surely had listened to his lesson.  
“Yes, I do rather like garlic”, I nodded, rising  my brows slightly at Jean who appeared into my range of sight as he descended down the stairs.  He flashed me a a smile.  
  
“Welcome, darling”, he said as he reached us, giving me a quick peck on the cheek. “Was your trip here okay? It’s pretty cold outside.”  
“Annie was going to the center so I only had to walk from there”, I smiled. “So it wasn’t bad at all.”  
“Good to hear. Hoo, you actually did get mum a present”, he hummed , looking at the present bag in his mother’s hands. “What did he get you?”  
“Wine”, she nodded, making Jean whistle. “It’s not for you, Jeanbo.”  
“Mu-uum”, Jean whined, showing her playfully. “Don’t use such names in front of Marco.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because it makes me sound like a five year old toddler, and that’s embarrassing.”  
“Aww Jean”, I cooed. “I’m quite certain she won’t be able to make me think of you as a five year old no matter what she calls you.”  
“Why do I feel the need to step out and put on loud music?” Maria wondered, making Jean sputter something illegible. I felt a little coy as she winked at me, I admit.  
“Well, the food won’t be served for an hour or so, you boys should relax meanwhile.”  
“Gee, thanks”, Jean replied, sounding slightly choked. “I’m taking him up to my room before you embarrass me even more.”  
“Should I turn up that music?”  
“No need to!” Jean barked, taking my hand and pulling me forwards. “Come on Marco, lets go.”  
“Are you sure you don’t need any help with the food, Mrs-”  
“Maria”, she corrected, and shook her head. “No help needed. Enjoy yourselves.”  
“ _MUM_.”  
“Thank you”, I laughed, following Jean to the staircase. “Don’t hesitate to shout  for us if you do end up needing help.”  
“Roger”, she smiled and nodded before I turned to actually face the stairs I was climbing.  
  
Once the door was closed behind me, Jean groaned loudly.  
“I’m sorry you had to hear that.”  
“That?”  
“You know what I’m talking about, asshat.”  
“No, really”, I smirked. “Was it about the Jeanbo or about how she expect- oh, she turned on the music.”  
“Fucking Christ she will drive me mad”, Jean muttered as Elvis’ voice travelled up to his ears, too, as his mother turned the volume to what I assumed to be the max.  
“Aww, she chose such a romantic song for us”, I snickered at Jean’s pained expression.  
“Marco, please.”  
“No no, I love this. _Take my hand, take my whole life, too-_ ”  
“Marco-”  
“ _For I can’t help, falling in loooove, with you~!_ ” I sang as I ignored his protest, pushing him down to sit on the bed. “Say, your mother was nice enough to prepare some music for us. Wouldn’t it bea  shame to let this chance slip past our fingers?”  
“Marco, my mother is downstairs”, Jean warned, but let me kiss him: “And it’s her birthday”, he added as he pulled away.  
“Mmmh I’m sure she’d want you to be happy on her special day”, I hummed, capturing his lips again. Jean pulled away quick.  
“That sounded disgusting, don’t talk of her when you’re trying to slip me the tongue.”  
“Can I slip you the tongue if I don’t talk about her?” I asked, running my finger down his chest. “Next to the fact that I can assure she won’t be able to hear anything past that music.”  
“The wall between me and the neighbours’ isn’t exactly -”  
“They aren’t home”, I told him. “At least not upstairs.”  
“Oh”, Jean said. “Well, then, yes. Kiss me.”  
  
I did. Kissed him silly settling down to the bed with him settled on my lap. We kept the kisses slow, unhurried, for we didn’t have to rush - to hell with it, neither of us really wanted to try our luck with a quickie with Mrs Kirstein downstairs. But make out session? That was totally okay. More than okay.  
  
By the time Mrs Kirstein - Maria,  I reminded myself - came up to tell us it was dinnertime, we had long since settle down to cuddling position, browsing through Ebay with the most ridiculous searches on my phone. Jean searched for ‘see through earrings’ - I told him it’s ‘transparent’, he told me that he knew and that he just wanted to see what would happen - found us with results of transparent underwear. For men.  He couldn’t stop guffawing for a long time as he looked at them, nodding at my comment of how it was rather ridiculous that they had kissy lips printed on them and how awkward it had to have been for the models to cover their dicks with their hands for the shoots. Jean didn’t have to know that I secretly kind of found those boxers sexy in an extremely dorky way. I mean - yeah. I admit it, I admit it - it’d look hella good on Jean, and no one can convince me otherwise.  
  
We had luckily just gotten past the see through boxers to the next search word - ‘banana boxers’ when she arrived, and were able to keep our laughter down as she invited us down. It was hard though - we had just ran into a pair of g-strings saying ‘top banana’ with a little banana embroidery at the front and actual banana pictures printed onto boxers (lime and orange, too, now that we are at it).  But somehow, we made it downstairs without any dubious gales of laughter. I resisted my urge to make kissy lips at Jean as he glanced back at me on the stairs - I couldn’t be _that_ evil in front of Maria - opting for just a wink. He shook his head and answered his mother's question that I think had something to do with salad - I wasn’t really listening at that point anymore to be honest. Jean’s ass looked too good in his jeans for my poor concentration skills.  
  
We settled around the kitchen counter - Kirsteins really didn’t have a kitchen table - with our food after a while of shuffling around. I thanked Mrs Kirstein as she handed me my plate and filled my glass water, wondering with how little eating I could get away with. Luckily my portion didn’t seem so terribly big, so I could probably eat it without feeling too horribly sick. Hopefully. But feeling sick would be worth it for the sake of getting to spend the evening with Jean and his mother like any normal boyfriend would have.  
  
The most curious thing however, was how good my blood pancakes smelled. It was different from the ones on Jean’s and Maria’s plates - theirs smelled just fine but mine seemed somewhat richer, more... Jean-like?  
I gave the apparent cook of my food a questioning stare, which he returned with a confused raise of his eyebrow.  I shook my head a little, blaming the scent on my over active imagination. We wished each other bon appétit, and bit into our foods with pleasure.  
  
It’s just that nothing could have warned me about the taste, and I dropped my fork, slamming my hand up to my mouth.  
“Marco? Marco are you okay?” Mrs Kirstein worried. I nodded, trying to tell her that I was smiling with just my eyes before turning my gaze to Jean.  
That fucker was smirking.  
“I’m fine”, I muttered as I finally managed to swallow. “I just bit my tongue, sorry.”  
“Ah, don’t worry about it, I hope you didn’t hurt yourself too bad?”  
“Not at all, it’s fine now”, I replied, going for the best of polite smiles that I could do, before turning my gaze back to Jean and squinting at him.  
He’d have a lot of explaining to do, but mostly in the form of _how_ and _why_ in the hell had he cooked his blood into my pancakes.  
  
It’s not that I was really angry, because this had to be the best meal I had had since I had gotten turned. But on the other hand, his smirk was pissing me off in just that best ‘I don’t know whether I wanna punch you or fuck you senseless against a wall to get that smirk off your face’ way.  
  
Well, I’d have time to decide on that. After the celebrations were over.  
Or then... _oh, yeah. That’s a good idea._  
  
“Why are you smiling like a maniac, Marco?”  
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just remembered a thing.”  
“Do I wanna know?”  
“Probably not”, I replied with my most innocent smile.  
  
He seemed a little worried.  
_Good. Because you should be._  
  
He tried to pry the information out of me as we watched The President’s Independence Day reception, but I ignored him, just pointing out my favourites (and commenting on desperate fails) out of the dresses and suits. Jean looked half amused, half pissed, and I smirked at him.  
“Have you ever realised that it’s kind of weird that we look at the president shaking hands with people for a few hours?” I asked, leaning my head onto Jean’s shoulder. “I mean, we don’t even really watch the ball afterwards, but you just have to see the handshaking.”  
“It’s a tradition, after all”, Jean muttered. “I think we mostly do it with mum to comment on the clothes, thought.”  
“Excuse me”, Maria sneered. “We do it to have quality family time, don’t we?”  
“Eh”, Jean muttered. “Is that really so?”  
“Of course it is.”  
“Well it’s news to me”, Jean hummed. “I at least do it purely for the clothes - talking about that, what the hell is that woman wearing? Are those... feathers? No? Paper?”  
“Feather like cut outs of fabric?” I suggested, squinting at the screen. “What ever they are, that’s the most horrible shade of green I have ever seen in a dress.”  
“No but do you see the man three couples after her”, Maria said, pointing at the screen. “I am not sure if I have ever seen such a ridiculous suit, how did he even get in?”  
“That’s a damn good question”, Jean muttered, shaking his head. “Some of these people should not be let out their rooms without a stylist’s check in, jesus.”  
“Isn’t it an artist thing?” I asked, winking at him. Jean look baffled.  
“What? Dressing weirdly?”  
“Yeah”, I nodded. “That exactly.”  
“Are you implying I have no sense of style?”  
“Well, you do have a ‘colossal bitch’ shirt with a horse on it...”  
“I didn’t design that!”  
“No, but you wear it. That’s worse.”  
“Fuck you.”  
“Not in front of your mum.”  
“Please don’t.”  
“I hate you two.”  
“Nah”, Maria laughed. “You love us.”

***

5 years before,  
20 th of  December,  
Western Trost; home  
  
“So what are you doing for Christmas, Jean?”  
“Eh, the usual”, Jean’s voice replies, a little muffled at through his hands-free. “My grand mère is coming over on 23rd.”  
“Grand mère?”  
“Grandmother.”  
“Wait”, I asked, confused. “I thought that your mother’s mother  is dead and that you are not in contact with your dad’s?”  
“Oh”, Jean laughed. “Did I ever tell you that my family is complicated?”  
“More than once. Why so?”  
“So, my grand mère is not really my grandmother, but father’s babysitter slash nurse slash caretaker, what ever you want to call her. She basically was more of a parent to dad than his parents so... yeah, she is flattered that I call her grandmother, mostly. A really doting woman.”  
“Ah, I see”, I replied. “It sounds like your father was from a richer family.”  
“He was. Sadly the riches don’t follow you when you cut ties to your parents.”  
“Hee, it’s still cool. You get to have a grandmother thanks to it. Are you two close?”  
“Close enough that she’ll freak out if I don’t call her once a week. She’s the reason I always have Skype credit - she keeps buying me it so that I can keep on calling her phone.”  
“That’s cute.”  
“It’s blackmailing”, Jean said, feigning horror. “It’s like ‘here’s the money, now you have to call me’. Horrible, really.”  
“You like talking to her, don’t you?”  
“I do.”  
“You speak French together?”  
“Naturally”, he laughed. “If you imagine that she can say more than three words in English or any other language you are gravely mistaken.”    
“Ah, I see.”  
“Very stereotypical, isn’t it?”  
“Maybe”, I hummed. “But at least you two can talk. Will she be staying for long?”  
“Only three days. She is not a fan of the cold.”  
“Three days...” I hummed, counting. “ Then, could I possibly request that you spend the New Years with me?”  
“Hell yeah, that sounds good.”  
“I’m glad you think so”, I hummed, smiling into the receiver. “I’ll deliver your present to you tomorrow.”  
“I knew you’d get me a present.”  
“Well, I like giving those”, I laughed. “And you are my boyfriend. How could I _not_ give you one?”  
“Dunno, I’m sure some people don’t do it.”  
“Well, I do. Did you get anything for me?”  
“That’s a rude thing to ask.”  
“I think we are close enough that I can be politely incorrect sometimes. So, did you?”  
“I did.”  
“See? You bought me stuff, too.”  
“Alright, I did. I will give it to you tomorrow, then.”  
“That’d be wonderful. Thank you a lot.”  
“Don’t mention it.”

***

5 years before,  
24 th of  December,  
Western Trost; home  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
Did you seriously buy me those fucking see thru boxers Marco.  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Not just to you.  
[image attached]  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
That’s the closest to someone can come to sending a dick picture without actually sending a dick picture holy hell I WAS NEXT TO GRAN MÈRE.  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Oops?  
  
From: Kirstein Jean  
I don’t care, I’ll be there in 20. You better open the damn door.  
  
To: Kirstein Jean  
Wear the boxers <3

***

5 years before,  
31 st of  December,  
Western Trost; home  
  
New years always make me sad, because they remind me of the never-ending passage of time, and of how people all around me were all growing older and older meanwhile I wasn’t. And this year, especially, it reminded me of how he was running out of time.  
I’m twenty four, but I’m twenty two and never more.  
I’m never dying.  
Jean is twenty, and he’s more than it and never less.  
He’s dying.  
  
“Hey Jean?” I asked, turning to look at him. He was sitting on the other end of  my little balcony, his feet crossed and his knee just barely not touching mine, leaning onto the wall and watching the fireworks. He slowly registered my voice and turned his gaze to me.  
“Mm?”  
“Wouldn’t it be nice to live forever?”’  
Jean’s eyebrows flew up to his hairline.  
“Aren’t you already?” he asked, cocking his head in confusion. I shook my head.  
“Well, yes, but I meant you. Wouldn’t you like to live forever?”  
“For ever”, Jean mused, exhaling slowly around the word as if it was hot on his tongue. “Is a very long time. That is not to be taken for granted.”  
“Of course not”, I agreed. “But would you?”  
  
Jean was silent, hesitant, for a good while. Whiskey eyes shadowed by light lashes, his gaze escaping from mine.  
“I don’t know”, he then whispered, rising his eyes. Teeth sinking onto his lower lip as he stared up onto the starry sky and the colourful flashes that painted it as if it could tell him all.  
To be granted or not, I knew he was lying.  
He knew.  
He knew, he knew if he wanted or not.  
But he didn’t want to tell it to me.  
  
Which probably meant that he didn’t want to.  
  
“I see”, I hummed. rising my own gaze up to the sky where his still laid. “Well, tell me if you ever figure it out.”  
I reached for his hand and he took it, fragile fingers clinging onto mine.  
“Marco?” he asked, turning to me as he registered the shake of my fingers.  
“It’s nothing”, I laughed, fighting against the weight on my throat, suffocating me. “Just wanted to hold your hand as the year changes.”  
“Alright, you romantic dumbo”, Jean hummed, slipping his fingers better between mine. “Will you be making any promises?” he asked as a firework started cracking over us faster and faster, flashes of gold and red on his face as he gazed up to them.  
“No”, I replied, looking at him against the illuminated sky. Half a minute now. “But I will be making a wish.”  
“Oh, what are you wishing for?”  
“That’s a secret.”  
“Hoo. Lame.”  
“Any promises yourself?”  
“Just one.”  
“Mmm, wanna tell it?”  
“No.”  
“Alright.”  
  
Ten.  
Nine.  
Eight.  
  
A squeeze on my fingers.  
  
Seven.  
Six.  
Five.  
Four.  
  
I dropped my gaze to him.  
  
Three.  
Two.  
One.  
  
_Please let me love him till his dying day._  
_Please let him live for ever, somehow._  
  
Silver, red, gold, green and enough noise to scare any animals in ten kilometre radius, his beautiful profile drawn across the flashing stark sky, excitement pulling his lips high like a child’s, his eyes wide like in wonder.  
  
How many years?  
How many kisses?  
How many touches?  
How much of Jean Kirstein could I steal for myself before he’d be no more?  
  
I don’t know.  
  
But it will end,  
and after that, it’ll be **infinite**  
infinite years to remember you  
           infinite years to miss you  
                       infinite years to forget you  
                                  _infinite_  
with no ‘you’.  
  
and I’m scared  
of the infinity  
            without  
       _you._  
  
    Ah.  
                                                                                           
                                                                  
             I think I’m going to cry.  
  
“Marco”, he said, twisting his body towards mine, his fingers tightening around mine, his eyes serious and breaths white little puffs in the air. “Did you ever realise, that if you wanted to, you could just turn me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW links:[[Jean's boxers]](http://www.ebay.com/itm/HOT-Homme-Sexy-Short-Boxer-Underwear-Transparent-Culotte-Lingerie-Sous-Vetement-/151388751157?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_71&var=&hash=item233f790535)  
> [[Marco's... umn, boxers]](http://www.ebay.com/itm/Sexy-Manner-Muster-Transparent-COOL-Y-Front-Unterwasche-Unterhose-Briefs-Slips-/201086786670?pt=LH_DefaultDomain_77&var=&hash=item2ed1b4dc6e)  
> (You are welcome for the mental image)
> 
> I also drew a little thing for the shower sex scene of the past: [[x]](http://salangaani.tumblr.com/post/119140505858/how-could-you-care-so-much-for-a-broken-boy-like)


	28. Laughter Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you wanted to, you could steal my time”, he breathed out. “Steal my life. Steal me.”  
> Fingers down my cheek, down my neck, down my chest, atop my barely beating heart.

Fingers on mine, slightly shaking and cold.  
“It’s about the time, isn’t it?”  
“Time?”  
“For me to die.”  
“Oh”, just merely breathed in sound. “Yeah. I guess it is.”  
“Will you miss me?”  
“Of course.”  
A press of lips on lips, white hospital sheets pooled around your ankles.  
“It’s been the greatest of pleasures to get to know you.”  
“I’m glad, I’m so glad you think so.”  
“Of course I do.”  
“Mmh... goodbye, Marco.”  
“Goodbye”, just a whisper, quivering lips and burning tears. “Goodbye, Jean Kirstein.”

Goodbye,  
and thank you.

***

4 years earlier,  
1st of January,  
Western Trost; home

Gold, silver  
   red white blue  
splashed against the black sky  
                suffocating the stars.

“Did you ever realise, that if you wanted to, you could just turn me?”

Green, white  
red gold green  
black  
black  
sky  
and stars drown out of their lights.

Jean lowered his eyes from mine, chuckling as the gold sparks couldn’t reflect on the amber any more. “That’s a terrible amount of power, Marco. A truly terrible, horrifying amount of it. You could just end my life by ensuring that I’d never die... that’s something that humans can’t do.”

White puffs of breath, eyes rising back up to mine as his fingers reached out to touch my face.  
“If you wanted to, you could steal my time”, he breathed out. “Steal my life. Steal _me_.”  
Fingers down my cheek, down my neck, down my chest, atop my barely beating heart.

Red, green, gold  
 gold gold silver  
     a dance in the night with the crescent moon.

“Have you ever thought about it, Marco? Thought about what a terrifying responsibility being you is? It can’t be easy, oh man, it definitely can’t.”  
Curling fingers against the layers of fabrics and fluttering breaths, a soft smile on his beloved lips.

Silver, red, collected breaths.

“So I really respect you for never misusing your powers”, Jean admitted. “Even thought it’d be so easy for you. It’s truly wonderful of you.”  
“Are you”, I choked, lowering my hand atop his on my chest. His fingers were as cool as mine now, ruthless cold of the night chewing on his warmth. “Are you afraid of me, Jean?”  
“No”, he smiled, shaking his head. “I trust you. But sometimes I just realise how strong you are.”  
He lifted our hands, pressing a kiss to my palm.  
“Sometimes, I just understand how you could break my bones like sticks. How you could kill me as easily as you could a fly. But you won’t. I know you won’t.”  
“How come?” I asked, tightening my fingers rounds his. “How can you be sure?”  
“Because you said you wouldn’t murder me”, he smiled. “The day you told me that you are a vampire. You have never broken a promise to me.”  
“You didn’t believe me back then.”  
“I do now.”  
But Jean.  
_I don’t want you to die._

Flashes of gold, flecks of colour on his cheeks again as I kiss him.  
“Thanks for trusting me.”  
Even though I’m not sure if you should.  
He smiled, brown flashes fluttering down to touch his pale cheeks.

Maybe I had never realised it before he said it, but now I knew it.  
If I wanted to, I could turn him.  
I could have my little forever with the boy I love.  
But I can’t, I can’t.  
Because he doesn’t want to, does he?

Green, silver silver silver  
     it’s not slowing down, not yet  
_‘happy new year’_ , someone shouts  
                    boom  
                                boom  
                                             boom  
colour colour colour  
      red  
                and silver.

A little dying boy,  
deemed to die since his first breath.  
Did he ever even learn to live?  
Did you, Jean?  
Did you ever really feel alive?

“Hey Marco?”  
“Mmmh?”  
“A year from now”, Jean started, in a rasped little whisper. “I... yeah.”  
“What is it?”  
“A year from now, I want to sit here with you again.”  
“I’d be glad if you did.”  
“And”, he continued. “A year from now, I will tell you what I think.”  
“About what?”  
“About living forever.”  
“A year from now?”  
“Yeah. A year from now.”

A year.  
A fourth of assumed life lived,  
three quarters left to go.  
In a sense, so little  
yet, so long.

“Then”, I hummed. “Then I’ll wait a year.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Any time, darling.”

Maybe, just maybe, he was trying to imagine the future he never thought he’d have. In that year; in a year by my side.  
And that was fine.  
Even if his reply was ‘no’, I wouldn’t mind.

Gold. Red.  
  A twinkle of stars to be drowned in green.

If I could see that dying boy to smile,  
wave his arms and laugh  
say, _‘I am alive’_ ,  
with his little laughter lines never to be.

Then... then I’m going to be happy with what I got.  
Four years, an eternity, week, one day.  
Whether it was, if it was, I’d be happy.

“Hey”, I whispered. “I love you.”  
“You do?” Jean asked, surprised as he glanced back to me.  
“I do.”  
“Huh”, Jean laughed. “I do, too. I mean, love you, not me.”  
“I’m pretty sure you love yourself, too.”  
“Well”, he smirked, “I’m fucking fabulous so ‘course I do.”  
”Dork.”  
“Sucker.”  
“Knobbly knees.”  
“Oh wow, and I thought ya loved me.”  
“Yeah”, I hummed, leaning my cheek against his shoulder. “I do love _ya_.”  
“Sucker.”  
“I know. I know.”  
”Good”, he whispered, chuckling. “That’s good.”

***

4 years earlier,  
2nd of January,  
Trost Centre; Sasha and Connie’s home

“Happy New Year!” Connie laughed as he pushed the door open for us. “Come on in, Jean, Marco.”  
“It’s been a while”, I nodded at him as I pulled of my beanie. “How’s Sasha?”  
“She’s all fine”, Connie smirked. “Just changing clothes.”  
“Too much information”, I smirked back at him. “Did you watch the fireworks?”  
“You bet”, Connie sighed, petting his stomach. “I’m still in a food coma from the amount of snacks we ate through the night.”  
“That’s what you get from overeating”, I chuckled. “Oh, Marco, give me that”, I continued, reaching out for my boyfriend’s jacket. “I will hang it for you.”  
“Oh, thank you”, Marco smiled, giving the jacket to me. Connie’s smirk widened dangerously.  
“What do we have here”, he snickered. “Jean Kirstein being polite? It must be love.”  
“Shut up, Connie”, I mumbled, willing myself not to blush. “Don’t forget that I set you up with your wife.”  
“You set them up?” Marco asked curiously.  
“By inviting us to same gaming night”, Connie muttered, shaking his head. “That doesn’t count as setting up.”  
“It does”, I hummed. “Ask your wife if you don’t believe me.”  
“What?”  
“Ask her”, I repeated, smirking as I hung my jacket next to Marco’s. “About how I was a great friend and invited her crush to the game night.”  
“What”, Connie said again, batting eyes. “What do you mean?”

Sasha, whom I had seen lurking behind the corner, decided that it was now a good time to walk into the scene, waving her hand to us before slipping it over her husband’s shoulder.  
“He means that he invited you”, Sasha explained, leaning to kiss Connie’s cheek. “To that gaming night because I wanted to talk more to you.”  
“Seriously?” Connie asked, staring at his wife. “I had no idea.”  
“Now you know”, Sasha smirked before turning to us. “Happy New Year, Jean, Marco. I hope your year has started well.”  
“It did, thank you”, Marco replied with a polite nod. “I heard you two enjoyed it over snacks and fireworks.”  
“So we did, so we did”, Sasha smiled, straightening herself. “But please, do come in. We can’t have the guests standing in the lobby for ever.”

We followed Sasha to the living room where she told us to sit down and enjoy ourselves, asking if we wanted anything to drink. Both me and Marco shook our heads, and she shrugged, getting herself a glass of apple juice before returning to the room with a colourful box tugged under her arm.  
“So”, she started, holding back a laughter. “I told you that I need your help with something, right?”  
“You did”, I nodded carefully, eyeing the mostly hidden box suspiciously. “What is it?”  
“Well”, she hummed, settling her juice to the floor before placing the box on the sofa table between us. “We got this as a present. And we need help with solving it.”

I stared at the box in disbelief. Someone seriously had a knack for designing sadistic stuff, it seemed.  
“Oh wow”, Marco whistled lowly. “Thousand piece puzzle of the ocean? That’s cruel.”  
“I know right”, Connie agreed from his armchair, on Marco’s right side. “But we are determined to solve it, even if it takes us forever.”  
“Who exactly gave this to you guys?” I asked, pointing at the box. “I mean, seriously?”  
“The trio”, Sasha replied, opening the box. “I heard Armin picked it up.”  
“Armin and not Jäger? I’m surprised.”  
“Don’t, Jean”, Connie shook his head. “I’m pretty sure Armin knows how to be the cruellest of them all if he wants to.”  
“But I’m pretty sure he thought we’d actually enjoy this”, Sasha pondered. “Which isn’t exactly wrong; I love puzzles. But it’s pretty hardcore for a puzzle, I might say.”  
“Hardcore sounds appropriate”, Marco laughed, lowering himself to the floor. “But hey, it could be fun. Have you gotten any parts of it solved yet?”  
“Just this”, Sasha replied and carefully lifted up a pitifully small assemble of pieces and settled it in the middle of the table. “So there’s a lot to do.”  
“So it seems”, Marco nodded. “Well, we should probably get to work. Are you going to help, Jean?”  
“Noup”, I replied, leaning back into the couch. “I suck at puzzles. I wouldn’t be useful at all.”  
“But it could be fun?”  
“No”, I replied again, ignoring Marco’s puppy eyes.  
“But Jean-”  
“Ask again when you have half of that done.”  
“How evil.”  
“I am.”

Marco shrugged at that, settling into work with knitted eyebrows, next to Connie who was slowly arranging the pieces in front of him into small piles determined by their shade of blue. Sasha kept sipping at her apple juice, poking at the pieces now and then, turning them round and around in her hands as if she was hoping that the bottom sides would suddenly offer a clue to its whereabouts.

By the time Marco had managed to add three pieces to the pre-existing assemble, Sasha excused herself out of the game so that she could ‘google for best ways to solve puzzles’, fetching her tablet and settling down to the sofa with me. I looked at her over my phone screen, to see her opening a news site.  
“That doesn’t seem like googling tactics, Sasha.”  
“Silence”, she replied. “I’m just taking a little break.”  
“As if.”  
“Silence”, she repeated, scrolling down the page. “It’s important to be up to date with the news.”  
“You are probably just scrolling through it in the hopes of anything food related.”  
“So you would think”, she muttered, eyes flying over the page. “I’m more interested in things outside food than you’d believe.”  
“One day I might believe you.”  
“Just watch me”, she replied. “I will google those tactics really soon.”

By the time Marco and Connie had combined their efforts into trying to assemble the outermost edges of the puzzle, Sasha had given up even trying to pretend she was doing anything puzzle related on her tablet as she reached over to tap my shoulder.  
“Isn’t he beautiful? You’d want to bang him wouldn’t you?” Sasha asked, her voice laced with a dreamy sigh as she pushed her tablet under my nose. What I was met with was a face of a well familiar actor that my friend had been obsessing over since she first laid her eyes on him years ago.  
“Nope, I wouldn’t”, I told her, shaking my head and pushing the tablet further away. “And Sasha, I know full well about your Benben addiction already.”  
“But Marco doesn’t!” Sasha exclaimed, whirling round on her side of the sofa. “Marco, Marco!”  
“Mmh? What is it Sasha?” Marco asked, turning towards us, lowering the puzzle piece he had been holding back to the table. “Did you want to show me something?”  
“Look at him, Marco. Look at this man”, Sasha chirped and pushed the tablet right under Marco’s nose. “Isn’t he handsome?”  
“I guess he is”, Marco nodded slowly as his eyes studied the screen. “Not in the most traditional way, but certainly he has got some eye catching looks there.”  
“Right, he does”, Sasha nodded, turning to grin at me. “See? Even Marco admits he looks good.”  
“He’s not my type, alright”, I muttered, rolling my eyes. It wasn’t the first time Sasha had tried to get me to agree with her on the actor’s handsomeness. “Furthermore, you didn’t ask me if he was _handsome_ , you asked me if I wanted to sleep with him.”  
“Oh, right”, Sasha hummed. “Well, then, Marco - you wanna bang him?”  
Marco blinked silently a few times under Sasha’s determined stare.  
“Call me old fashioned”, Marco then shrugged, askew smile slipping onto his lips. “But I only do that with people that I love.”

The room couldn’t have frozen more if he had confessed a mass murder.  
I, well, I froze because holy fuck, I was anything but used to him mentioning the word ‘love’ in a terms of our relationship.  
Connie, well, I think he froze because he didn’t expect that from Marco.  
Sasha, that girl, she froze with shock until a dangerous glint appeared to the corners of her eyes and rose her lips into a smirk.  
“Well well well”, she snickered. “But you have done it with my Jeanbo, haven’t you?”  
“Uh”, Marco eloquently replied, which Sasha clearly interpret as ‘yes’, because a high pitched whine of excitement left her throat.  
“OH MY GOD”, she screamed. “DID YOU HEAR THIS CONNIE?”  
“I did, I did”, Connie smirked. “Seems like we have some lovebirds in the house.”  
“Says the married couple”, I groaned, pushing Sasha suddenly way-too-close-to-comfort face further away from mine. “Stop teasing us.”  
“Awww, come on, don’t be lame”, Sasha smirked. “At least tell us which one of you bottoms!”  
“What the fuck, Sasha!” I growled, feeling my face to heat up. “That’s, I can’t even start at how wrong that’s to ask. Furthermore, it none of your business, and what would you even do with the information, jessus.”  
“A lot”, Sasha answered with innocent stare. “I could do a lot with that information.”  
“Even more of a reason not to tell you anything”, I replied, pushing her away. “Go get your own sex life if you are so interested.”  
“You are so boring”, she sighed again, turning back to her tablet. “I’m gonna put on some music. Any protests?”  
“No”, I replied, and Marco and Connie shook their heads. Sasha smiled and tapped on the screen, turning the music on. After three or songs we had settled back to our own activities, Connie and Marco still solving the puzzle, me reading on my phone and Sasha playing with the tablet.

But when the next song with a remotely familiar melody came on, Connie jumped up to his feet.  
“Sasha”, he said with gleaming eyes. Sasha nodded, a smirk on her lips as she settled the tablet aside.  
Before neither me or Marco had time to voice our confusion, Connie broke into the song perfectly in synch with the singer:  
“You took me to your favourite place on Eart”, he sand, Sasha nodding eagerly at him. “To see the tree they cut down ten years from your birth”, Connie continued, winking at Sasha as he reached for her hands, continuing with the song as he held onto her hands.

I exchanged an equally confused stare with Marco before turning back to the show next to me, just as Connie twisted his face to something that was probably supposed to be a face of dreadful mourning, but which mostly looked constipated with the grin that kept slipping into his lips.  
"I'll see you in the future when we're older, and we are full of stories to be told“, he wailed in overly dramatic sobs, lifting his hand to his chest to draw a cross onto it as he continued:  
“Cross my heart, and hope to die.”  
His fingers flew up to Sasha’s face, to the corners of her eyes.  
“I’ll see you, with your laughteeeeer linessss”, he smirked, drawing his fingers down her face before breaking into a laughter.  
“That was frigging hilarious”, Sasha giggled, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that you can still come up with new moves to this.”  
“Sorry to butt in but what in the holy hell did I just witness?” I asked carefully, eyeing the couple as if they had grown second heads. “That was crazy even in your scale.”  
“Aaah, you don’t know”, Connie sighed, shrugging his shoulders. “Should we tell them, Sash?”  
“We could tell them”, Sasha nodded and turned to look at me and Marco. “Simply - Connie’s supposed to perform the first part of this song every time he hears it. It’s a bet.”

“Bet?” Marco asked confusedly after a few seconds of silence. “Why exactly is it a bet?”  
“Or a dare, I guess”, Sasha said, shrugging. “If he doesn’t dare to do it, he owns me five chocolate bars. So far, he has sang to me in the shopping centre, my car, in front of my parents and now in front of you.”  
“Don’t forget the park or the beach”, Connie added, smirking. “I’ll win this game soon.”  
“How can you win it?” I asked. “And how long exactly has this game been going on?”  
“If Sasha can’t watch through my performance or stops me, I win”, Connie explained. “And I think we started this in June?”  
“June, yeah”, Sasha nodded. “I’m impressed it has been going for this long.”  
“Wow”, I muttered. “You should have made this song your wedding vow. No one would have suspected a thing.”  
“No no no”, Sasha shook her head. “It should have been our first dance if anything. But if you like the song so much, you can choose it as your own wedding theme.”  
“What wedding?” I asked, but Sasha ignored me.  
“It’s called Laughter Lines, by Bastille. Just mark that up and thank me later.”  
“ _What wedding_ , Sasha?”  
“Yours”, she replied. “You’ll be getting married at some point anyway, won’t you?”  
“I wouldn’t say that I will”, I sighed, shaking my head. “I have no plans on getting married right now.”  
“You’ll change your mind”, Sasha informed cheerfully, turning to Marco. “Wouldn’t you want to marry my son, Jeanbo?”  
“I think it’s quite early to be talking about marriage, Sasha”, Marco laughed gently, already turned back to the puzzle. “We haven’t even been together for a year yet.”  
“What a pair of boring people”, Sasha sighed, pushing herself up from the sofa. “Who wants to watch Sherlock?”  
“I’m in”, Connie informed. “As long as it’s not the second season again.”  
“How many times have you seen this thing?” I asked, rising my brows at Sasha. “You probably know the lines by heart by now.”  
“Probably”, she shrugged, turning to Marco once more. “Do you want to watch Sherlock?”  
“I think I have to go home”, Marco replied, turning to look at me. “I forgot to take my medicine.”  
“Oh”, I replied, nodding. “Then we should go.”

Sasha turned from Marco to me, and back to Marco.  
“Are you okay?” she then asked Marco, worry in her voice. “What is this medication?”  
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing too serious”, I replied before Marco could, because I knew that look. “He just gets faint if he doesn’t take his meds, blood pressure problems.”  
“That’s all?” Sasha asked, clearly relieved as Marco nodded at her. “Oh, good, I’m glad to hear. I was scared for a moment there.”  
“Worry not”, I reassured, patting her shoulder. “We will be going, you enjoy Sherlock with Connie, won’t you?”  
“We will”, Sasha replied, standing up with us. “I will see you to the door.”

She stood silently by the door as me and Marco pulled on our winter clothes, nodding at me as I said my goodbyes. We were halfway out of the door before she called out to me.  
“Jean.”  
“Hmm?”  
“I love you. Stay safe.”  
“Love you too. Take care.”

With that, I gently closed the door behind us, walking down the stairs to the crisp January air with Marco.  
“Okay”, I said as we were out of the building. “What was that?”  
“I actually did forget my meds”, Marco shrugged. “And you have told me how much they love snacks while watching telly.”  
“Oh, so you were just being cautious.”  
“Yeah”, Marco nodded. “And to be honest, I just wanted to be alone with you, too.”  
“Lucky for you, we have the house for ourselves.”  
“I know”, Marco laughed. “I’m glad. You wanna hold my hand?”  
“Sure”, I replied, taking his offered hand into mine, fingers slipping into their places with ease now. “Do you want to do something special today?”  
“Eh”, Marco hummed. “Just spending time with you sounds nice enough.”  
“Good”, I smirked. “Because that’s what you are getting. Prepare.”  
“I’ll”, Marco gasped. “I will prepare to the test of survival: having to spend 24 hours alone with my boyfriend, oh no, I wonder how I will ever survive this.”  
“You might want to level up your acting if you want me to believe that you are really terrified by this situation.”  
“Nah”, Marco smirked, winking. “I wouldn’t dream of making you believe it.”  
“Such a sweetheart”, I replied monotonously. “You are just making my heart skip beats with that excitement right now, Marco.”  
“You are such a meanie, Jean.”  
“I know, right.”

We settled into silence, listening to the snow crunching under our shoes as we walked through the quiet streets of Trost. It was such a peaceful scenery, such a nice moment, really. But my mind was astray, worried thoughts circling around.

I had never really realised it before, but my sexual preferences could turn into a problem. Especially if even outsiders expected us to naturally take part in _that_.  
But I didn’t want to, and I had never wanted to.  
_But did Marco want to?_  
Would he be disappointed?  
And if he was honest with what he said, I guess the half assed plan I had for if he was disappointed wouldn’t work.

“Jean? Are you okay?” Marco asked, squeezing my hand and returning me to reality.  
“Mmm, just peachy”, I replied with a smile. “Don’t worry about me.”  
“Are you sure?” Marco worried, his brows settled low. “You don’t look OK.”  
“As sure as I am about this being the front door to my house”, I replied, letting go off his hand to pull out my keys. “I’m okay Marco. Just got a little lost in thought.”  
“Good or bad thoughts?”  
“You know what”, I replied, pulling the door open and gesturing for Marco to go in. “I don’t even know that myself.”  
“Huh”, he replied as I got in myself. “Sounds complex.”  
“Yeah, but it’s okay. Don’t worry”, I reassured him, tugging open my jacket. “It’s not worth worrying over.”  
“Okay”, Marco nodded. “I’m going to your room. Is that okay?”  
“Of course. I will come soon after, I’ll drink something first.”  
“Alright”, Marco nodded. “See you soon then.”  
“Yup”, I replied, still opening my shoelaces as he made his way up the stairs.

Well, to be completely honest, I wasn’t that thirsty for something to drink. Thirsty for that ass? More like it, yeah.  
But I also really needed a while more to sort my thoughts, so I made a detour through the kitchen, swallowing down a glass of water as I let myself ponder. Once the glass was empty, was my decision made.

So I made my way upstairs to my room, and opened my door to see my boyfriend laying on my bed, inside of roll of what seemed to be all of my blankets.  
“Marco?”  
“Oh, hi!” he replied with a smile from his little blanket roll. “I wanted to try it out.”  
“Try out what exactly?”  
“Making a blanket burrito”, he replied, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “And as you can see, I succeeded.”  
“I can see that”, I muttered and shook my head. “You are a funny guy, you know that?”  
“Still young and wild”, he replied with a grin. “As I should be before I turn into an old, grumpy and bitter vampire.”  
“That wouldn’t suit you at all”, I laughed, sitting down to the edge of the bed by him. “I can’t even imagine you all grumpy and bitter”, I told him, crossing my hands over my legs. “It doesn’t suit you.”  
“I still might end up old and bitter”, Marco shrugged. “Whether it suits me or not.”  
“I guess so”, I replied, shrugging. “But it’s still hard to imagine.”  
Marco hummed something illegible as a reply and shrugged his shoulders as he shied deeper inside the blanket roll, which I took as a good cue to move to other topics.

“So”, I started, clearing my throat from the pressure that seemed to be building up. “You said you only bang people whom you love? Back at Sasha and Connie’s.”  
“Yeah”, Marco replied from his blanket burrito. “I did. Why?”  
“Well, you said that you love me, right?”  
“Yeah, so?”  
“Well, I was wondering... umh...”  
“Jean”, Marco interrupted, peeking up to me. “Is this a roundabout way to say that you want to fuck me right now?”  
“Something.... like that yeah”, I croaked, trying to ignore the blush I could feel tingling up my neck at the bluntness of his words. “If you want to, that’s it.”  
“Hmmmmmmh”, Marco muttered, hiding deeper into his covers. “But it’s so warm and comfortable in here.”  
“I said, ‘if you want to’, you don’t have to.”  
“I didn’t say I don’t want to”, Marco’s muffled voice replied from deep inside the blanket roll. “It’s just, it really is comfortable here. Now I remember why I did this all the time when I was kid.”  
“What, teased your boyfriend?”  
“No, hid in the blankets”, Marco laughed. “Sorry to remind, but you are my first boyfriend.”  
“I’m not that sorry about it”, I mumbled and carefully sat to the edge of my bed. “But I need to talk to you, Marco.”  
“O-ou”, Marco mumbled. “Seeing what you just implied I’m hoping this is not a break up speech.”  
“This is not a break up speech”, I reassured. “Just a very awkward sex talk.”

Marco’s head appeared from under the covers, his hair messed up.  
“I’m listening”, he nodded. “It can’t be more awkward than my condom talk.”  
“Well, I won’t bring the impossible possibility of half vampire babies into it”, I chuckled, well remembering the one talk we had had about our sexual safety that had been the very definition of awkward. “But it’s a bit awkward, and I don’t know how you will react.”  
“Alright”, Marco nodded. “You know that I love you and accept you, right? So I won’t judge you if this is a kink talk.”  
“This is like... uh... anti-kink talk?” I offered, trying to give him a smile but it turned to awkward grimace. “It’s something I’m a bit afraid you might not be okay with.”  
“Fire at me”, Marco replied, lowering the blankets down to his stomach. “I’m listening.”

I looked into his steady eyes for a while, collecting my courage.  
“I used to think that if this turns into a problem I’d... tell you that you can find someone to have sex with on the side”, I mumbled, Marco’s brows flying up as I spoke. “But I’m guessing that’s not going to happen. Unless you are polyamorous.”  
“I’m not polyamorous”, Marco replied softly. “And not interested in sex without feelings. What is this about, Jean?”  
“I”, I started, feeling the words sticking into my mouth. “Uh. Sorry, I need a moment. It’s hard to say.”  
“It’s okay”, Marco reassured, rising up so that he could reach me to give my should a comforting squeeze. “Why are you so worried, Jean? I promise I won’t judge you. You can trust me.”  
I bathed in the feeling of his hand on my shoulder, taking in a deep, shuddering breath. Now or never.  
“I don’t want a dick up my butt.”  
Marco blinked slowly.  
“So you’d prefer to -”  
“No”, I breathed in. “No, no. I don’t want my dick into anyone’s butt either.”  
“Okay”, Marco nodded, surprising me with his calmness. “I think I have read about that.”  
“Huh?” I asked. “Read about what?”  
“Guys who like sex but don’t do the anal part of it. Wait, you _do_ like sex, right?”  
“Of course I do”, I hurried to reply at Marco’s scared expression. “I fucking love sex. I just don’t want to do butt stuff.”  
“Alright, good good”, Marco breathed out. “And I think the article called it being a ‘side’? Is that it?”  
“I have no idea”, I confessed. “I didn’t think it’d have a name, I just thought I was weird.”  
“I don’t think it’s weird”, Marco hummed. “I mean, there are a lot of things like that. Some people don’t like giving or receiving oral sex. Isn’t this just like that?”  
“Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked carefully. “Like, aren’t you disappointed?”  
“Njah”, Marco chuckled. “I mean, I get to have sex with you. There’s no point in sex that’s not comfortable for both of us. I’m not... well, I guess if you were into it, I could have done anal? But I see no point now. It’s not like I’d cry after it or something.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yeah”, Marco nodded. “If I get the overwhelming need to get something up my ass I’m gonna buy a dildo.”  
“Look at you”, I muttered. “The picture of innocence is not at all that innocent.”  
“I have no shame, really”, Marco murmured, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Will you hold the dildo for me?”  
“Oh my god”, I whined as he barked a laughter at my blushing face. “You are _terrible_ oh my god there’s nothing innocent in you.”  
“Probably true”, Marco hummed, kissing my shoulder up to my neck as his cold fingers slipped under the hem of my shirt, rising up the faint trail on my stomach. “But would you hold it for me?”  
“I-if that’s what you want”, I stuttered, failing at not imagining how he’d look like that. “Then sure, I will.”  
“Then there’s no problem, really”, Marco mouthed against my neck, cool breath against the wetted skin.  
“But what about - _ah_ ”, I gasped as Marco bit onto my skin. “Y-You won’t have a problem with not... having anything to fuck, w-w-will you?”

Marco nibbled at my neck, silent for a while before pulling off, laying his fingers onto my lips.  
“What do you mean I’ll have nothing to fuck?” he asked innocently as he tilted his head, eyes big and questioning as his fingers drew the outline of my lips with those barely there touches. “I have your mouth, don’t I?”  
“My god”, I whimpered.  
“Not a god”, Marco smirked. “Just your vampire.”  
“You are a terrible dork you kno- _ah_ , know that, right?”  
“Yup, I do”, Marco replied from where he had leaned to nibble at my earlobe. “I got to ask though. Would you, as an idea, be okay with anything to do with your butt?”  
“For example?”  
“Rimming; getting your ass eaten. Prostate simulation with a finger. Something like that?”  
“I have no idea”, I muttered. “But not against a try at some point.”  
“Alright”, Marco nodded against my neck before straightening himself and finally capturing my lips with his, as his hand travelled upwards under my shirt. “Can we get rid of your shirt?”  
“Sure”, I hummed and helped Marco to push it past my head. “But yours is better to come off, too.”  
“Awww, no repetitions of the suit time?”  
“No”, I shook my head firmly. “I want to touch you and I want to see you. So off this goes”, I informed, yanking at the hem of his shirt. “Come on, take it off.”

Marco leaned backward a little to get the shirt off without hitting me on the face with his elbows, throwing it into a pile on the floor together with mine, and I didn’t hesitate to lay my fingers onto the exposed skin.  
“Marco”, I asked, amused. “Is this what I think it is?”  
“What?” Marco asked, clearly confused until I snapped the visible waistband of his boxers against his skin.  
“Are _these_ what I think they are?”  
“Probably.”  
“Dork”, I replied, shaking my head. “What would you do if your trousers would have ripped? How would you explain your underwear?”  
“I’d say that I have a kinky ass boyfriend”, Marco smirked. “Who gets off from the knowledge that his man is wearing see-through underwear out in the streets.”  
“Who is the kinky one, now”, I muttered, jabbing at his toned stomach. “Don’t go twisting the truth.”  
“But you are blushing Jean. I think the knowledge does excite you.”  
“Shut up.”  
“Make me.”

I stared deep into his eyes.  
“Was that a dare?”  
“Maybe.”  
“Suck my dick.”  
“Gladly.”

Marco definitely was a vampire worth his word.

***

4 years earlier,  
7th of June,  
Trost Cemetery

“Are you really sure it’s okay for me to be here?”  
“I told you already it’s fine, Marco”, I replied, smiling at him. “Mum agrees, don’t you?”  
“Definitely”, mum confirmed, nodding at Marco. “You two have been dating for almost an year already - I see no reason why you shouldn’t be finally introduced to Guillaume.”  
“But wouldn’t it better on another day? Isn’t today too special, more of a family day?”  
“It’s not”, mum said, shaking her head. “Furthermore, it’s already been three years. They say spirits get weaker with time, but that they are the strongest on their death days. So today is a perfectly reasonable day for you to visit him.”  
“Mum’s not really spiritual”, I told Marco. “But she likes to use it as an excuse when it helps her.”  
“Silence, son”, mother laughed. “Don’t tell him that.”  
“You scared me”, Marco muttered. “Jean told me you’re an atheist who doesn’t believe in anything. I was already going through my memories to see if I had messed up and said something that could have hurt your feelings without knowing it.”  
“I do apologize”, mum chuckled. “But seriously, you are welcome to visit him. After all, Jean loves you, and that makes you part of the family.”  
“MUM!”  
“Keep your voice down on the graveyard. Furthermore, it’s true, so why are you acting so embarrassed?”  
“Because you are embarrassing”, I whined, not at all glad of the way Marco was laughing behind his hand. “Don’t say that stuff out of nowhere. Or actually, please don’t say that stuff at all.”  
“Too bad”, mum smirked. “It’s my job as your mother. But I have to give you the credit, you are taking my teasing much better than you used to.”  
“It’s called growing up”, I sighed, running my free hand down my face. “But seriously, drop that. Just don’t make me jumpy. I don’t want to drop these flowers.”  
“Don’t worry”, Marco reassured. “Even if you let go, I’m sure I can hold them up by myself.”  
“Don’t brag”, I warned him. “Furthermore, even if you could, the flowers would twist if they were only supported from one side of the arrangement. I don’t want my work to go to waste.”  
“Maybe you should learn to make sturdier arrangements?” mum proposed, dangerous gleam in her eyes. “So you wouldn’t have to worry about such mundane things.”  
“I hate you two”, I sighed. “Where is my praise? I just made a huge ass flower arrangement for the first time in my life and it looks nice, and all you are talking about are its faults. How fair is that?”  
“Well, I am impressed with it”, Marco hummed, smiling at me. “It looks very good, Jean.”  
“Somehow that feels empty after my comment.”  
“Awww don’t be like that”, Marco laughed. “I was honest.”  
“Why, thank you, then.”

My mother stopped in front of us and turned to face me.  
“Jean”, she started. “I am actually impressed. Not only by how much you have learned about flowers, but by how much you have grown.”  
“Grown?” I asked, tilting my head. “What do you mean?”  
“Last year, this time, you were completely shaken when I asked you to choose the flowers for Guillaume’s grave and only chose one of the flowers in the end”, she replied softly. “This year, not only did you choose all the flowers, but you also built the arrangement by yourself. It’s amazing, really.”  
“It’s not”, I muttered, feeling the heat tingle up my cheeks. “Mark still had to help me.”  
“Just accept the compliments, young man”, she smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. “Your dad would be proud if he could see you now.”  
“Hell”, I chuckled. “He’d be more proud of us learning to communicate than some flowers.”  
“Could be”, mum smiled, turning to Marco then. “Has Jean told you much about Guillaume?”  
“Not that much”, Marco replied. “He explained me the story of his dog tags, though, and told me that he was a warm and loving father.”  
“He never told you about how he was a punk or how he secretly loved all the things pink?” Mother laughed, and I had to chuckle with her.  
“No, he didn’t”, Marco shook his head. “He sounds charming, really. But all the things pink?”  
“Yeah”, I butted in, smirking. “He’d buy all these pink things to our kitchen, pretending they were for mum but we all knew they were from him.”  
“Seriously”, mum sighed dramatically. “Men and their egos! He just couldn’t admit his love for pink no matter what.”  
“I suggested he’d get his tags in pink”, I snickered. “But he looked mortified and got them in black instead.”  
“Then you changed his order, didn’t you?”  
“Yeah”, I laughed. “His face when he opened the box was hilarious.”  
“Wait”, Marco stopped us. “Your father pair of tags is pink?”  
“Yes”, I smirked. “As pink as can be.”  
“Hee”, Marco muttered. “I always imagined they’d be silver like yours.”  
“I guess that’s the natural assumption”, I shrugged. “Since I never explained. But now you know.”

“Is there anything else I should know about your father?” Marco asked as we carefully continued our way. “Before greeting him and all?”  
“Not really”, I shrugged. “He was relaxed, not big on formalities. The kind of guy who gives out bear hug to half-strangers, you know?”  
“I am not sure if I know”, Marco chuckled. “But I can do my best to imagine.”

We walked rest of the way in silence, and settled the arrangement down to its place carefully upon our arrival. Meanwhile, mother took her time to lit and set the candle on its submerged place on the stone.  
“Bonjour, Guillaume”, she gently greeted the grave, gracing her fingers across the gilded name on the black stone. “We brought you an important visitor this year.”  
“Morning, papa”, I nodded at the stone, smiling. “I brought my boyfriend with me.”  
“Uh”, Marco hesitated. “Good morning, Jean’s dad. Thank you for your son.”  
“Hey hey”, I laughed, elbowing Marco’s side. “You aren’t asking for my hand in marriage, so relax.”  
“Uuuh”, Marco whined. “But I’m so nervous.”  
“It’s just a gravestone”, I consoled him, giving him a pat on the back. “He won’t hit you even if you mess up.”  
“Alright, alright”, Marco muttered. “I just, I have never really visited anyone’s grave before, okay?”  
“You haven’t?” I asked, surprised. Marco shook his head.  
“Neither of my parents are from around here”, he explained with a shrug. “So I have only ever left candles on the big cross.”  
“Oh, for the memory of those buried elsewhere”, I nodded. “I see. It makes sense. But seriously, I don’t think there’s any right way to visit a grave, right mum?”  
Mum gave a nod at that.

“What I am used to”, she started, lowering down to her knees next to us. “Is leaving flowers or candles, and taking care of the flowers that have been planted onto the soil above the grave. I never used to talk to graves when I was younger, but I heard one of my friends doing it and found it weirdly reassuring. So now I babble to graves, talking about my day or the weather or whatever.”  
“I definitely got the talking to graves from you”, I added. “I actually thought everyone did it before I found out that it wasn’t exactly so. Some people come to pray at graves. Some people just silently look at the grave as they tidy it up. For each their own, I think.”  
“Some naturally come to cry”, mother added. “But personally, I would rather not. Not after the funeral itself. Because if, by some weird miracle, the people of past can sense these visits, I’d rather show them that I survived, and tell them that I do miss them, but that I’m fine now. But I don’t really believe in afterlife, so it’s just another excuse. After all, graves aren’t for the sake of the dead, but for the sake of the living. It’s all for my own sake.”

Marco’s eyes snapped to my mum’s on that, his mouth opening into a question, but he shook his head and closed it without a word.  
“Did you want to ask something, Marco?” she asked gently, but Marco shook his head again.  
“No”, he said, keeping his eyes down. “I just found myself astonished by the truth in your words, and how I hadn’t realised it before.. Graves certainly are for the sake of the living, that’s true. It’s to ease our pain.”  
“Exactly”, mum nodded, sighing. “It’s to ease the pain of letting go. So that we will have a spot where we can visit those who are no longer with us. It’s easier to tell a stone representing someone that you miss them, than it’s to cry staring at your living room walls.”  
“Alright”, I exclaimed, rising my hands up. “Deep talk and topics are all fine, but maybe another time. I have yet to introduce my boyfriend, and I’d rather do it without feeling like I’m giving a funeral speech.”  
“You are right”, mother smiled. “Please do your thing.”

I cleared my throat and reached out for Marco’s hand, giving him encouraging nod before turning back to the grave.  
“Hi dad, I wanted to introduce Marco to you. So, this is Marco, Bott is the surname. He’s my boyfriend, and even thought he can be really annoying and has a bad case of cold toes that keeps waking me up in the night, I really do love him a lot. I’m sure you’ll like him. He’s been taking a good care of me.”  
“Hi Guillaume”, Marco hesitantly said. “I’m Marco. Your son truly knows how to annoy me, but I do love him, too. As I already said before, thank you for him. You’ve done a wonderful job of being a parent with your wife. I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you on time.”  
“What did I say about funeral speeches?” I chuckled, squeezing Marco’s hand. “But thank you. I think it’s time for stories, now.”  
“Stories?” Marco asked, confused.  
“Sorry, we didn’t explain yet”, I apologised. “We usually sit here for a while with mum, reminiscing funny stories of dad. Is that okay with you?”  
“Of course”, Marco hurried to reply. “It’s your traditions.”  
“Jean’s worried you will feel like an outsider”, mother explained softly. “Since you don’t know any of these stories. We don’t want you to feel like a third wheel when you are not.”  
“No no, I’m okay, seriously”, Marco reassured, waving his free hand. “I’d love to hear more about Guillaume. I really would.”  
“Alright, then”, mother smiled, and I nodded. “But please do tell us if we get boring and you want to leave.”  
“I promise”, Marco nodded.

I smiled, flexing my shoulders.  
“Aright then”, I said, gazing gently from the gave to Marco. “I think I’m gonna start with the eel story.”

We sat in the graveyard dirt for an hour and a half, smiling and telling stories of a man who was no more.  
And it was true; it was for our sake, and not for father’s, but it was fine.  
I was happy to have finally introduced Marco to him, I truly was.

Even thought it was a little sad to stay behind and lean down, whisper those little words to a cold stone, it’d be fine. It’d be fine, truly.

For I am sorry, dad, because I know you were waiting for it.  
But I won’t be joining you in afterlife.

I’m going to become a vampire.

***

4 years earlier,  
8th of June,  
Eastern Trost; home

It had all went well, as we walked through the park afterwards and went to get ice cream, saying goodbye to Marco on the seashore, accompanied by the blue waves, seashells in the sand and his laughter.  
It was all beautiful, blossoming spring and hefty laughters.  
But Marco’s relapse came fast, and no one was prepared for it. Me the least, probably, because his smile had never even faltered with me.  
So the little wrenched whisper was a surprise.

“Jean”, he greeted me through the phone, 4 AM flashing at the screen. “Jean it’s here again.”  
“Eh, what? What’s there Marco?”  
“The need. I want to hurt myself, Jean. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know.”  
“Wait”, I stammered, pulling myself up on the bed, my heart wincing on the sudden change on its pace. “Take it easy. Where are you now?”  
“Home.”  
“Are others asleep?”  
“Yes.”  
“Can you wake them up?”  
“I”, Marco breathed out, his voice strained, drawn. “I don’t think I can go that close to kitchen right now.”  
“Alright, then give me a moment”, I said, as calmly as I could. “I will come there. Where exactly in the house are you now?”  
“My bathroom.”  
“Get out of there, Marco”,I told him, with a clear image of my shaving set on the drawer on my mind. “Go sit by your bed. Don’t take anything with you from that room but yourself and the phone, alright?”  
“Jean...”  
“Just do it, please. Trust me on this. I will keep talking to you, and I will come over. You don’t have to be alone for long.”  
“How are you getting in”, he muttered. “I can’t come down. You don’t have a key. Annie will murder you if you wake her.”  
“We will figure it out once I’m there”, I tried to calm him, feeling around the bed for a pair of socks before pulling them on. “Now, go to the bed Marco.”  
“Don’t come here, Jean.”

My hand froze on its place.  
“Marco?”  
“I don’t want you to see me like this, Jean.”  
“Marco, it’s alright, I won’t-”  
“I won’t let you in, Jean”, he whispered. “Don’t come. Stay there. Just... speak to me. Please. I promise I won’t do anything stupid.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Yeah.” There was a slight echo to his voice, cold and down.  
“You are still in the bathroom.”  
“Sorry.”  
“It’s alright. Can you get up?”  
“I’m already standing.”  
“Can you move?”  
“I guess so.”  
“Good”, I whispered. “Please go to your bed, Marco. It’s alright. You can do it, I’m here with you.  
“I don’t deserve it.”  
“Deserve what?”  
“You.”  
“I’m not very desirable to start with”, I slowly replied, not sure at all what I was supposed to say. “And you deserve way better than me. If someone here doesn’t deserve someone, it’s me. I don’t deserve you.”  
“You are a good person, Jean”, Marco whispered. “But I’m not. I’m anything but.”  
“You are a good person, Marco”, I assured him. “No bad person sacrifices his free time to help the homeless. No -”  
“I’m not that virtuous”, Marco cut in, his voice shattering on the edges. “I just wanted to matter, _I just needed to matter_ , Jean. I needed someone to need me. I needed someone to wait for me. I needed a reason to live. So I bought them goddamn coffee and I loved how they needed me, how they told me their stories and sorrows and how they needed me to listen to them, needed _me_. There’s nothing but selfishness in that, nothing but my need to be needed. It’s disgusting.”  
“It’s not disgusting”, I told him firmly. “Isn’t the need to be needed just a basic human emotion? Isn’t that something that _everyone_ feels?”  
“Most of people don’t need to make a drama out of it”, Marco scoffed, his voice sharp on the edges. “And I’m not even a human.”  
“So what?”  
“So what?”  
“So what that you aren’t human?” I asked, fisting the sheets of my into a ball in my hands. “You were human. Two years-”  
“Three years.”  
“Three years ago, you were human. You have human past and human emotions, Marco. You have a very human soul and heart. You are not some blood lusty monster. You are a human turned into a vampire, learning to live with the new limits of your new life.”  
Marco was silent for a moment, his breathing shaky on the line.  
“Do you know what’s the worst?” he then asked, and I could almost feel his stare through the line. “The worst about being a vampire?”  
“I don’t. Care to tell me?”  
“It’s leaving behind.”

 _Leaving behind?_ What did he mean by that? Leaving behind what?  
“What do you mean?”  
“Being vampire is nothing but leaving behind. You can try to hold onto the pieces of your humanity, but you’ll have to leave it all behind. You will have to leave your former life behind, you’ll have to leave your family behind - not that I cared, but most of people do. You have to leave your friends behind. You have to leave your lovers behind. Because unlike them, you are now stuck at one place. Time is now leaving _you_ behind.”  
“Marco-”  
“And while it leaves you behind”, Marco spat. “You stand in the corner and watch everything you know _dying_. From beloved pets to friends, family, lovers. You will still stand there as your friends’ great grandchildren die if you don’t move on. If you don’t shred your humanity and join the monsters. Because unlike humans, unlike the humans you so want to hold onto, these monsters last. They last as humans shatter and turn to dust, and you last with them. At some point, you’ll have to leave your heart behind, because it has broken way damn too many times to be fixed anymore. At some point, you’ll have to leave behind what you thought to be yourself and accept the monster you have become. That’s how it goes, really.”  
“You don’t have to give up your humanity”, I tired to reassure him. “You can hold onto it - it must hurt, but you’re strong, you’re strong Marco.”  
“I am not strong!” Marco shouted, making me wince at the sound. “That’s it Jean, I am not strong! I am not strong at all, I’m - I’m so weak Jean, you don’t even know.”  
His voice wavered, hesitant, but the sob escaped him. Another, and another. Until he was crying, crying through the phone and I was helpless, useless to him. I could just listen, biting my lip and hoping I could be there to close him into my arms.

“I’m scared”, he finally sobbed after a while, some coherency back in his voice. “I’m so scared, Jean, _I’m so scared_. I’m so scared you will leave me behind. I don’t want you to die. I can’t handle it, _I can’t handle you dying_.”  
“Marco-”  
“Meet me”, he stopped me. “Meet me at the tree.”  
“The tree?” I asked, surprised by the change in his tone and his refusal for meeting me turning into an invitation.  
“That apple tree, you know which one. Meet me there.”  
“In Mark’s garden? Are you okay? Can you get there?”  
“Yes”, he replied. “And I will run. I will run, so take the car. Meet me there.”  
“Mar-”

But the line was cut, a soft series of toots in my ears before I could say a word more.  
I gritted my teeth and threw the phone against my bed where bounced up, landing by my pillow on it’s second leap, and I was dressing up in record speed.

Phone back in my hand,  
to my pocket,  
run down the stairs,  
bang on mum’s door.  
“MUM”, I shouted, before tearing it open. “I need the car. Now. Where are the keys?”  
“Jean”, she gasped, hand on her chest. “You scared me. Where-”  
“There’s no time to explain, I need the car. Now.”  
“Kitchen counter, third drawer from right.”  
“Thanks”, I replied, already turning on my heels to storm onto the kitchen.  
“Where are you going to?”  
“To Marco.”  
“Marco?” her voice was surprised, and she had already appeared by her door, red nightgown loose on her figure. “Is Marco okay?”  
“No”, he replied through gritted teeth. “So I need to go.”  
“Jean”, she said, raising her hand. “Be careful.”  
“Yeah.”  
“He’s not trying to kill himself, is he?”

I dropped the keys, clatter on the dark laminate floor and my curses echoing on the room as I reached down for them.  
“Is he?”  
“No”, I shook my head. “But he might get hurt if he’s alone now. He’s not... okay right now.”  
“Alright”, she nodded. “Still, remember to drive safe.”  
“How did you... know?”  
“Oh, about him?”  
“Yeah.”  
“I saw his scars. In the hospital. And I have lost someone to scars like that.”

That stopped me.  
“Who -”  
“My best friend. Now, go Jean. Go to Marco.”  
“Oh”, I muttered, and I looked up to her serious eyes. “I will go. Thank you.”  
“Stay safe, both of you.”  
_What a sad smile._  
“We will.”

Out of the door, into the crisp night air.  
_What was Marco even wearing?_  
He’s a vampire, he doesn’t get cold, and it’s summer.  
But still, _what is he wearing?_

I unlocked the car and pulled the door open as fast as I could, plunging onto my seat.  
Please be okay.  
_Please be okay, Marco._

Even though I didn’t really have thoughts to spare, I couldn’t help but think about it as I twisted the key in its ignition.  
_“My best friend.”_  
Best friend of when?  
And that sad, sad smile.  
Where you running to someone to stop it from happening, mum?  
                                                     Did you not make it in time?  
                                                     Did you even get the change to help?  
_Drive safe._  
I would.

Because mum had already lost too much.  
Her family, her husband, her best friend.  
Soon her son.  
She didn’t need that soon to be any sooner than it already was.

I gritted my teeth together as I exited the parking lot. It was too early for morning traffic, so I could easily take the shortest route without fear of other cars slowing me down. The wonders of living in a small city, bless it.

Like I had guessed, the drive into the garden was easy and fast, and I barely even saw other cars on my way, and most of those were on the bridge.  
I might have slowed down on that bridge, carefully eyeing up to its heights to make sure I couldn’t make out the shape of a man.  
Just in case, you know.  
Because he had had to cross the bridge, and I knew what the bridge meant to him, his words of _‘Trost bridge is where I died_ ’ still clear in my mind.  
But there were no shapes on the bridge next to a few lone birds, and I made my way down on the little roads like all these times before. This time, thought, I left my car at the end of the street to ensure I wouldn’t wake up Mark - if he even was home - because the least I needed now was him coming to check on us. So I trotted down the street past his house in a phase that I figured would be safe for me to keep before making my way to the fence and over it.

Marco was already there, standing under the apple tree as I walked through the rows of now well cut rose bushes, watching him as the shadows kissed his skin, his back hunched as he leaned onto the rough bark behind him, his eyes already watching me as I finally stood in front of him.

Marco slowly took my hand into his, just holding me by my fingertips, as if he was scared I would disappear if he didn’t touch me, but not really daring to really grasp at me either. Afraid he would break me, perhaps. Afraid of the power in his own hands that wasn’t limited onto the chains of humanity anymore.

“If you were to be turned into a vampire”, he then said, not meeting my eyes. “If you would stop being human, there’s a lot that would happen.”  
His eyes slowly rose up to mine, and I couldn’t let out a word under his stare. So he looked at me for a while, searching for something - I didn’t really know what - with his eyes before slowly closing them and returning his stare to our feet.  
“If”, he started, shaking his head. “If I were to turn you, there wouldn’t even be a grave; there wouldn’t even be this: no one could leave you their goodbyes and move on - you’d just disappear. You can’t stay if you turn; vampires can never stay. We must wander and wander, years after years. To be honest, I don’t even know if I should be here any more. I can’t keep on passing as someone older as my body forever - someone is going to notice soon enough that I look the same each year. That’s when I will have to leave, at the latest - before I rise too much suspicion, before I rise too much wonder. “  
“But -”  
“Would you give up your laughter lines?”  
“I don’t understand.” I honestly didn’t – staring at Marco’s serious, deep brown eyes I couldn’t understand where this all was coming from. How had he ended up here with his thoughts.

“Jean”, he murmured, slowly entwining our fingers. “I never wanted anything more than to get laughter lines. I wanted to smile and laugh until one day I had done it so much that I’d have lasting proof of it travelling through my skin. But I never can”, he almost spit, slipping his hand off mine. “I can never get laughter lines, not like this.”  
He paused, seemingly battling around tears glittering on his dark dark eyes. “But Jean, you can still do it. You can walk away, grow up and get older. You can still grow old. You can still get your laughter lines”, he whispered, fingers of his free hand slowly touching the side of my eye. “I know what they say about your health. But it’s not impossible that you will live past it and get old and get your laughter lines. I am sure they’d suit you so well, Jean. I am sure.”

He smiled at me in a way that seemed to tear apart the pieces that were left of my heart - so kind, so tender and so, so loving. But Marco was crying, as we stood on that garden under that apple tree, his fingers gracing its barks as he finally continued:  
“I’m so scared of you leaving, Jean, I don’t want to live without you. And that’s not okay, this is not okay. I can’t force you with this; pressure you with this. I can’t have you under the pressure, knowing that it could turn you into a vampire. So Jean... I need to leave.”  
Words stuck in his throat  
                    in my throat  
                    in the air barely separating us  
                    in the gazes that were tearing us apart  
apple blossoms sticking to his coal black hair like snowflakes.

“I need to leave until I’m better”, Marco finally said, and it felt like black birds and razor blades, malevolent omens and cuts on my skin.  
“I can’t force this onto you so... hey, Jean…”  
Tears on black eyelashes, on freckled cheeks  
          on brown lashes, on pale cheeks  
                down his jaw, down my neck  
in his shattered whisper and shaking lips;  
“Cross my heart and hope to die -”  
those upturned lips that weren’t smiling,  
 that weren’t supposed to smile  
        that never should have smiled like that  
     smiling for me, me and me  
                      as if his words weren’t murdering me.  
“- I’ll see you with your laughter lines.”  
"You can't leave me by quoting a Bastille song", I croaked and pressed my face to his chest.

Listened to that little just barely there beat,  
listened to a dead boy breathing  
as his tears traced their way down to my hair and mine darkened his collar,  
     salted water under the midnight sun.  
"I should”, the dead  boy told me; told the dying boy. “For you, for the sake of your beating heart.”  
“Don’t.”  
“I won't, if you don’t want me to”, he muttered, hesitant. “But I need you to know that that's something you can have.”

He pushed me further away, so he could lock our eyes, and his had never been so much like tar before, so much like the Death’s in those dreams.  
  I wondered if he’d break down now, too. If all I’d have to hold would be little black pebbles that’d tear my skin till I’d bleed to death.  
“We can break up, Jean, and you can live your life, get married, get kids. You could be happy."  
"Marco”, I whispered, with a shake of my head, shake of my arms as I grabbed his shirt tighter, and there was anger hidden in the sadness.  “I wasn't happy before I met you. I wouldn't be happy without you.”  
_Please understand it._  
“You make me happy in ways that no one else has been able to before.”  
_Please don’t say those things about yourself when you’re the best I have ever had, that I’ll ever have, the best there even is._  
“So don't you dare to pull that whole shit that you want to leave me for my sake. It's not for my good, it's not for me.”

Surprise in his eyes and I knew I was right  
           anger, anger, so much anger boiling inside of me.  
“It’s for you, Marco; it's to kiss the bruises on your wounded self consciousness that refuses to see that you are not ruining my life like you want to believe you are, because you are unable to accept there could be good in you. Because you are unable to see how you are making my life better."  
Grimace on his lips  
     he didn’t understand, didn’t want to understand.  
"By killing you?” he scoffed, shaking his head. “No,  I don't believe so. We could stay together, like we are now. You can grow old, get your laughter lines and -"  
"Were you even listening to me?" I roared, pushing myself off his chest, the anger in my blood too strong now.  "That's not what I want, Marco! What about you? It’s not even likely that I could live to be old, but if I did somehow,   _how would you fee_ l?”  
Marco’s eyes were cold, _unbreakable_ , they tried to say, but there were cracks everywhere, like shattered glass on verge of breaking.  
I wanted to break it, wanted him to understand, wanted him to say how he feels, how he is, how I could I help him.  
So I continued.  
Continued with my cruel, cruel words,  
                                                               cruel truths.

“How would you feel seeing me grow and getting old while you can't do it anymore, Marco? How would you feel the day someone thinks that I am your sugar daddy or something like that because you are way too young to be with an old fuck like me? One day, people would start asking if you are my son or nephew, Marco. Do you want them to ask that?”  
A slight shake of head, but nothing more.  
I gritted my teeth.  
“How would you feel when I retire? What about when I become too senile to tell who you are? What would happen to you when I die and you are left with a body to bury and a grave to take care of? Do you think I would believe for a second that you'd be fine with that?"  
"It doesn't matter how I feel -"

I punched him.  
             Straight to the face as hard as I could.  
"You are a fucking idiot, _you self sacrificing fuck!_ ”  
I never hit people, never hit vampires.  
     But I was so angry, so so angry.  
                                                Please, love yourself.  
                                                Please, be happy.  
                                                Just be happy, Marco.  
                                                Just be happy.  
“You are allowed to want, Marco”, spat out words of truth that hurts. But never so much as the worthlessness in his eyes, the way he was still _nothing_ and _not worth saving_ , how he still would bleed to save other, but never for himself.  
I hated it.  
“You are allowed to be happy”, I continued with my shaking words, biting onto my lip and I could taste the blood but I didn’t mind, couldn’t mind. Not now.  
“You are allowed to do things for your own happiness”, I continued, and it was my voice that shattered, and I could feel the burn of tears and I didn’t want to cry, but I wasn’t angry anymore, just sad, so so sad. “You idiot."

I kissed him.  
      Straight to the surprised lips with all my might.  
"You understand", I continued as I broke our contact, out of breath, out of anger, out of everything as I carefully lifted my fingers to pet over the forming bruise on his cheek. The bruise in the shape of my own fist, on the shape of my love and my anger and all that I wished to be. "That if you don't do it, I can ask around and get someone else to turn me. With good luck, someone does it. With bad luck, well, I end up dead for good. Not the kind of living dead that you are. Dead in the human way."  
Marco stayed silent as I spoke, his eyes downcast.  
"I want you to do it, Marco. I want to be a vampire, and I want to be turned by you."  
"Are you", he choked up. "Are you sure?"  
"I am."

Marco smiled, only one side of his mouth rising up and he leaned in to kiss me.  
"Thank you", he whispered before pressing his lips against mine again. “But not now.”  
“Not now?”  
“Yeah”, he said, shaking his head slightly and bumping his nose onto mine. “You told me; you will tell me on New Years. So I will wait until then. I want you to wait till then. So you can be really sure, really really sure.”  
“But I’m -” I started, but he shushed me with a cold finger on my lips.  
“Think about it Jean”, he murmured, leaning his forehead onto mine. “Really, think about it. Because most of us can’t choose. And Jean, you haven’t been thinking about future for a long time.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Well”, Marco said, rising his eyes to me. “You said that you have accepted that you are going to die young. You were always so calm about dying. You never really thought past a certain age, did you? Past your... now to be three and half years. Because you were sure you’d die.”

So much truth, so much truth in his simple words.  
“I guess you are right”, I hesitantly admitted. “I didn’t.”  
“Yeah. So you should marvel about it for a while; about what it really means to be alive and to have a future”, he said, his smile turning from warm to stern. “But do know, it’s different to live as a vampire than it’s to live as a human. Don’t ever get them mixed up, because once you give up your humanity there’s no going back. I won’t blame you if you would rather die a human than live endlessly as a monster. I’d understand it, I really would.”  
“I-”, I started, but stopped at his stare. “Yeah. I will think about it. I will really think about it.”  
“You promise?”  
“I promise”, I nodded, wrapping my arms around him. “So you need to promise you aren’t going anywhere. Because I need you to tell me about how it’s to be vampire, about what a life like that means. I need you to tell it to me so that I will know.”  
“Alright.”  
“So no speak of leaving any more, right?”  
“Okay.”  
“Swear it?”  
“I swear it.”  
“And Marco?”  
“Hmm?”  
“If I go worse. Let's say, if I’m seriously about to die before New Years, and I tell you, ‘turn me now’, you need to promise me that you will.”  
“Do you think that will happen?”  
“No, not exactly”, I shook my head. “But I just wanted to point it out just in case.”  
“I see. Okay. If that happens, I will turn you.”  
“Good”, I hummed. “Lets go home.”  
“Home? To my place?”  
“Maybe to mine tonight”, I muttered. “If that’s okay with you?”  
“Yeah”, Marco nodded. Then, with a little smile, he looked up to me. “My home is where you are, Jean.”

Forget heart problems and turning to vampire, this man is definitely going to end me way before anything else has time to even try.

***

4 years earlier,  
11th of June,  
Western Trost; Marco’s home

You’d think cuddling someone cold would be uncomfortable, but you have my word on it being useful in the summer.  
“Move your leg”, I muttered, pushing at Marco’s leg with my free hand. “Or are you trying to give me a boner?”  
“Ooh”, Marco hummed, letting his leg to be pushed away. “That’d be a good plan.”  
“Noup”, I replied, turning the page on my book. “There’s no way I’m agreeing to that. I’m way too busy trying to solve this crime before Sherlock.”  
“Awww, what a shame”, Marco snickered. “But on the other hand, you are still kind of bruised from the last time.”  
“Learn to control your teeth. Being a vampire is no excuse for your biting fetish.”  
“I was just demonstrating the hunger for blood you get as vampire, really. It’s part of your education on vampire life, which you, if I may remind, requested me to give to yourself.”  
“No one sucks their victim’s blood from the inner thigh”, I yawned, rising my brows at the explanations in the book. “Unless they’re even huger perverts than you. The fuck’s with this rope tho? I don’t understand it.”  
“Want me to spoil you?”  
“Definitely not.”  
“You won’t be able to solve it before Sherlock”, Marco laughed. “That’s how the stories are written.”  
“Shut up and let me try.”  
“Sure, sure.”

We relaxed back into silence, Marco’s leg now politely away from my crotch and back to being entangled with mine. He was reading Anne Sewell’s Black Beauty - he had told me he absolutely adored the book, and I never questioned it. Everyone was allowed to have their own taste in fiction, after all.

We had arrived into Marco’s flat day before, after he had stayed in my place until he was calmer. He had taken up on his promise to educate me about the differences in life between humans and vampires, and on how life felt after the transformation.  
_To be fair_ , he had said, _I’m going to ask someone else to explain these things to you, too, since my descent into this life wasn’t the smoothest, nor is my mental health the best. I don’t want to sugar coat things for you, but I don’t want to make them needlessly dark either. So I’ll be asking around for any volunteers._  
So far, Marco hadn’t yet connected anyone. Mostly because I told him he should take it easy for a while. Just to relax, and let it be. Let himself heal.

Marco had listened surprisingly eagerly, and agreed to spend a few days with me. Just to be safe, and all that. Away from the world, away from the problems.  
“Jean?”  
“Mm?”  
“Your phone is ringing again.”  
“Unknown number?”  
“Yeah.”  
“Ignore it.”  
“But”, Marco protested, pushing the muted phone in front of my face. “It’s third time in five minutes. It must be urgent.”  
“Or a really annoying sales maker.”  
“Answer it. Just in case.”  
“Okay”, I sighed, picking up the phone and sliding the call open.

“What?” I greeted the line, just to make sure the other person knew I was pissed off at their behaviour.  
“Jean, oh thank _heavens_.”  
Wait. That voice....  
“Hah”, I muttered. “ _Krista_?”  
“Where are you?” Krista asked me, and she sounded... _exhausted_?  
“What?” I replied, not really understanding what was going on. Exhausted mother of vampires? What was this? A dream?  
“Where are you right now?” Krista’s voice was collecting panic now.  
“At Marco’s?” I offered carefully, hearing the relieved breath on her end.  
“Don’t move. What ever happen, you don’t move from there. Don’t open the door. They’re after you.”  
“What-”  
“We’ll get you safety, Jean. Just don’t move. We will be there as soon as we can.”  
“Wait, who is after me?” I asked, confused. “And why? What’s goi-”  
“Just trust me”, Krista replied, her words hurried. “There’s no time to explain now. They know what you a- FUCK!”  
“Krista?”  
“DON’T YOU FUCKI- shit, fuck, lock the doors Jean, lock the fucking doors we are coming, don’t you fucking die shit YMIR, LEFT! F- _YMIR_!”

A sharp clatter, hasty toot-toot of the line before it was cut into eerie silence.  
I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the darkening screen, then up at Marco.

All I found was the same panic that rose in my chest as he stood up and locked the door, locked the windows, locked the balcony door, fished a long wooden cane with metallic ends from under his bed.  
“I regret not having taught you martial arts”, he hissed, rising the crane horizontally to the level of his chest. “But don’t worry. I’m going protect you.”  
“Marco-”  
“I _am_ going protect you, Jean. So don’t do anything reckless. Stay alive. No matter what happens, you aren’t allowed to die. Understand?”  
“Roger.”  
“Good”, he breathed out, his shoulders heaving up and down with his motion as he fixed his eyes on the door. “Now, we wait. We wait and we hope for the best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Info on being a 'side':  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-XWLAUqMG3U>  
> <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z_5fkeuQkdU>


	29. What the hell is Jean Kirstein?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, now that we know that you have voice in you", Ymir hummed, pointing at me. "Are you okay with me talking about you? Can I tell your boyfriend here what you are?"

4 years earlier,  
12th of June,  
Location unknown

Sometimes, there comes a moment in a man's life where he has to accept that his life has turned into a cheap looking, supernatural YA fiction. And that he was made the main character of it.

I slumped silently on the blue couch on the little, damp smelling apartment complex god knows where, holding a cup of steaming hot chocolate in my hands, glaring from one of my rather bloody and bruised companions to another. Marco was sitting next to me, his face buried into his hands. Like it had been for the last ten minutes or so. Maybe it was more? I wasn't sure at all anymore.

"Sorry to keep you waiting", Krista chirped as she returned from the bathroom where she had been patching up Ymir. "Had to be careful to arrange her bones correctly. Can't have them healing all wonky."  
A rather pale looking Ymir followed her into the room and fully into the sight then, her right hand in a splint hanging against her chest, supported by what seemed to be Krista's scarf. Krista herself seemed to be perfectly fine despite a bruise on her cheek and a fine cut on her lip.  
"Are you okay, Jean, Marco?" she then continued, nodding from me to Marco. "I mean, you seem fine but..."  
"No", Marco crumpled into his hands. "I am not fine." He lifted his head and leered at the blonde vampire with red rimmed eyes. "How could I be fine when I don't know how my friends are?"  
"There there", Krista pacified. "I know how they are, so calm down."  
"Tell me, then", Marco demanded, balling his hands into tight fists. "And tell me why it even happened? Why are my friends in the hospital and my house shattered? Why are they after Jean? How come we even are at this situation?"

I carefully settled my hot chocolate down on the floor before lifting my legs to the edge of the sofa, hugging them to my chest as I listened to the _hurt_ in Marco's voice and bit down the words. _It was my fault. I'm sorry, Marco.  
_ "One thing in its time", Krista replied, pulling two chairs from under the kitchen table and settling them down so that they faced us. Ymir sat down with a wordless grunt that could have been a 'thank you' if one listened hard enough. Krista followed her example, wiping off dust from her trousers before properly facing us again.  
"As for your friends", she started, glancing at Ymir who shrugged. "The last we heard, two of them are fine. But they are still keeping the girl unconscious and not giving out details outside closest family. The two have called for her boyfriend."  
Marco's shoulders twitched, and he bit into his lips.  
"If Annie..." he started, but stopped himself, changing his wording, but we all knew what he almost said.  
_If she doesn't make it._  
"If she doesn't recover perfectly, I'm.... I can't..."  
"We are hoping for the best", Krista replied calmly. "But humans are fragile. She shouldn't have been in the middle of vampires to start with."  
"Oh, shut it!" Marco shouted, slamming his fist into the edge of the sofa. "If you had dared to do your goddamn job better, or maybe told us someone was after us before they were at our door we could have transported her somewhere safe. You can't blame this down on her living with us."  
"Stop it, both of you", Ymir groaned, coughing right afterwards, curling her hand into a fist atop of her chest. "It's no time to be pointing blaming fingers. Shit like that never ends up being productive. So let's keep it business, please."

I uncurled my legs, gazing at Marco.  
"Sorry", I whispered. "I didn't know they were after me."  
"I know", Marco replied, still stiff, still staring at the blonde. "I know, Jean. I'm not blaming you."  
"What if you blamed no one?" Ymir offered in a scoff. "You think we wanted this either? You think we didn't do what we thought to be the best? We were trying to protect your asses, good sir, and we failed and got your friend hurt. That we are sorry for. But there's no point in blaming us, like there is no point in blaming your boyfriend for what he is because he didn't choose it. So stop with your martyr act, Bott, and get your shit together. Do you think we are safe now? That this all ends here? It's no time to be stuck with what happened, but time to recover and decide how we act from now onwards. This clear?"  
"Yes", Marco breathed out.  
"I didn't hear that."  
"YES, m'am!" Marco bellowed. "And sorry. I know. I know. I'm just upset."  
"It's alright", Ymir replied. "And you, Historia. Can't you act like the older and wiser of us at least once?"  
"I apologize", Krista replied, rubbing her temples. "I'm bloody annoyed at myself and took it out of you. Sorry."  
"Great", Ymir hummed. "Now, I will keep on explaining things. Why did it all happen, was that what you wanted to know, Marco?"  
"Yes but", Marco started, turning to look at me. "What is Jean, exactly? Shouldn't you start there?"  
"Quite possibly", Ymir shrugged. "But are you okay with me talking about it, Jean?"

Three pairs of eyes on me, and all I could offer was a weak shrug.  
"Are you in shock, Jean?"  
"How am I even supposed to know that?" I mumbled. "Do I look like I am in shock?"  
"You look more or less like you shit your pants."  
"Thanks."  
"Well, now that we know that you have voice in you", Ymir hummed, pointing at me. "Are you okay with me talking about you? Can I tell your boyfriend here what you are?"  
"What right would I have to say 'no'? Whatever this whole business with me is, it's what caused us to be here, isn't it?"  
"Well, pretty much", Ymir replied. "But I mean, we could all well tell you first while Marco's in different room or something, and only then tell him."  
"Different room?" I scoffed. "He's a vampire. There isn't a room away enough here for him not to hear it. Just tell us."  
"Alright", Ymir said, raising her hands. "Your call."

She settled herself more comfortably on her chair and gently pulled Krista to lean on her lap, running her fingers through the blonde locks with her unhurt hand.  
"I'll have to start with a bit of history", Ymir then said, glancing up to us. "So it's better if you try to relax a little. This might take a while, and it won't go any faster whether you keep that pole up your ass or not."  
Marco sighed, letting his shoulder drop down. He offered me his hand but I shook my head. I didn't want to touch him right now. Not when I couldn't shut down the voice of _your fault, it's your fault all your fault_ from singing inside my skull.  
"Jean", Marco said softly. "It's not your fault. Relax."  
I hugged my legs back into my chest, burying my face between my knees. I couldn't look at him, and I couldn't look at the women either.

I heard Marco sigh, and I guess some kind of signal of 'ok' was given for Ymir because she cleared her throat.  
"So. This dates quite far back, and I am not sure how far exactly we are talking but... I'd guess the early 1900's, at least."  
"That's not long for you", Marco noted, and I agreed silently in my mind.  
"No, but for humans, yes. And you both still have rather humane timelines, so I'm trying to make it clearer for you. Well, whatever. Early 1900's, a group of vampires came up with a terrifying idea - _what if they could bring back the original vampire breed?_ "

I snapped my head back up. Historia was staring at her wiggling toes, arms crossed over her chest.  
"Quite naturally", Ymir continued, "You know that Historia is the last survivor of what we now call the original vampires. All these vampires coming up with the idea where her children or grandchildren, in some sense, at least. They were aware of Historia's rather omnipotent powers compared to their own."  
"I'm not omnipotent", Historia whispered, clenching her hands. "But they wouldn't listen to me."  
"They decided Historia was hiding some of her powers", Ymir replied. "Someone clever, very clever, had realised that she was the one they would sometimes see on their dreams. The group wanted that power for themselves, and for the next generations of vampires. It was messy."  
Ymir glanced from me to Marco, then Historia, then back to Marco.  
"I am aware of your past, Marco", she then said. "And I hate to be the one to tell you this, but vampires can die."  
Marco stared at her wordlessly, blinking his eyes slowly. Biting down to his lips as he processed the information.  
"Not like humans", he then said. "I tried."  
"I know", Ymir replied. "Which is exactly why I hate to tell you how you can kill a vampire. Can you promise me you won't use what I am about to tell to kill yourself?"  
"I can't", Marco replied. "Not really. I don't want to die right now, though. But I can't promise you what I will think years and years from now."  
"That's enough for me then", Ymir shrugged. "Just don't make your boyfriend cry. Jean, am I right that you know one of these ways?"

The speed of Marco's turning head and the expression on his face would probably have been hilarious in any other moment, but right now it mostly made me feel sick.  
"Quitting drinking", I replied, looking at Ymir. "Not consuming human blood for years"  
"Correct", she nodded. "Really painful. Drives them mad, in the end. Takes at least two years of constant hunger and pain before you dry up completely. Most of vampires dying like this were either really dumb or tortured."  
"Ymir", Historia warned, giving her a stare. "Don't."  
"Not any more than what is needed", Ymir replied, and I had no idea what just happened in their little conversation. Based on the confused state of Marco's face, he didn't either.

"Okay, then", Ymir continued. "That's one way. There's another, much quicker way to do it, too."  
"Care to tell?" Marco asked. "And then explain what this has to do with Jean."  
"Patience, young one", Ymir sighed. "I told you this would take a while."  
"And your wife was the one to point out that we aren't safe yet", Marco noted. "So please, hurry it up."  
"Once more, no blaming fingers. I'll keep going on, and tell what's necessary for you to know, and this is, sadly, necessary. So, the second way to kill a vampire is with another vampire's blood." "Another vampire's blood?" I asked, finally speaking up.  
"How do you even do that?" "We vampires are funny animals in that we are poisonous to each other", Ymir shrugged.  
"But only in big enough doses. You need quite a lot of blood to kill a vampire. Smaller amounts will just make you feel sick. It's sort of a taboo", Ymir sighed, her fingers still working through the blonde hair. "But sometimes lovers are said to commit suicide together by drinking each other's blood. Really disgusting, I know."  
Krista patted Ymir's leg and rose an eyebrow at her as their gazes met.  
"Usually", Ymir then continued, looking back to us. "This method is used at court, though."  
"Court?" Marco asked, hesitant. Ymir nodded.  
"Vampire court. Two members of it is right in front of you. The court is meant to keep vampires from acting up. We exterminate those who try to destroy the balance between humans and vampires." "Wait, 'exterminate'?"  
"Yes, we kill them", Ymir replied simply. "It's lucky that not all vampires can reproduce, so we haven't run into crazy overpopulation yet. There can't be too many vampires in this world. Some... of course disagree."  
"Are they stupid?" I asked, my voice hoarse. "If there are too many vampires, you'll run out of food."  
"Bingo", Krista sing songed, but her voice was anything but cheery.  
"Well, currently we are all fine with the population amount", Ymir replied. "Since we exterminated those who would.... produce too much offspring. Some said they tried to built an army. But it'd been long since then, so it's not something you need to worry about."  
"Tell them about my blood."  
"Of course, dear", Ymir replied, the gentleness of her voice surprising me. "That's what I was getting at. See, to exterminate a vampire we need quite a lot of vampire blood. So usually court member and some volunteering vampires give a bit of theirs and... we take care of inserting it into the one being exterminated."

I shuddered involuntarily, and Krista grimaced. She didn't seem to enjoy the talk at all.  
"So, back to the group who wanted to remake the original vampires", Ymir said. "They had plans. Unlike Historia, we secondhand vampires are all infertile. Historia was also kind enough to explain to them that humans and original vampires were never able to crossbreed, either. So they had to give up the hope of actually getting babies out of Historia."  
"They thought I was some kind of vampire goddess", Historia sighed. "It was insane. Almost like a hidden religion centered in recreating me."  
"Dark times, dark times", Ymir said, shaking her head. "So this group, they thought - what if they were to turn a pregnant woman? If she would give birth, her baby would be both alive and dead, and quite possibly like Historia. But it didn't work out, as you may guess."  
"What happened to the women?" I asked carefully.  
"They mostly died", Ymir replied hoarsely. "Or had miscarriage, and were killed by the group. So the group came up with another idea - they decided they needed Historia's blood."  
Historia shuddered, closing her eyes.  
"Naturally, Historia is strong. Very, very strong", Ymir said. "And wary of the group, to worsen it for them. So they didn't even try to hurt Historia. The group - dammit, Historia, can’t I just reveal their name?"  
"I can't see how it'd hurt anyone."  
"Thank you", Ymir sighed. "So, this group - the Titans, as they called themselves. They decided to get Historia's blood otherwise."  
"Excuse me", I said. "But _titans_?"  
"Yes", Ymir nodded. "I don't know why they fancied that name exactly, but I theorise it either has something to do with the size of Historia's powers or that they just liked the sound of it and liked to play it mysterious. Or then, they called themselves titans to reference how much more powerful they were than humans, but as I said, I don't know. It's a less suspicious name than something with 'blood' in it, if nothing else. Well, however it was, the Titans were hunting for Historia's blood, calling her the 'mother titan', the one with omnipotent knowledge and the possibility to continue the bloodline. They weren't stupid, not at all. So in the end, they managed to get her blood."  
"But how?"

Ymir and Historia glanced at each other at my question, and Historia sighed.  
"It was our mistake", she then said. "One of them made his way up our ranks and into the court. No one suspected a thing - he hid his trail so well."  
"Then one day", Ymir said gloomily. "This man helped us to capture a criminal. A criminal, as we later on learned, of his own organization. A criminal who was sure to face execution. Can you already guess what happened?"  
"The man ran off with the blood Historia gave for the execution?" Marco offered, his brows furrowed down.  
"Correct", Historia replied. Ymir clapped her hand against her thigh.  
"So he did", she confirmed with a nod. "He was the one collecting the blood syringes from us. Once he got Historia's, he got two more and then he fled from the full courtroom, helped by the sudden shout of the criminal. We tried to chase him but he was fast. Very fast."  
"He got away", Historia added, rather needlessly. "And we didn't hear of him or the rest of the Titans for months. That is, before more pregnant women started disappearing."  
"Wait", I said, feeling the air in the room getting gloomier and gloomier. "But didn't they already decide it was a failed method?"  
"Yes", Ymir said. "With blood like mine. But they believed in the powers of her blood."  
"I don't like where this is getting", Marco muttered, leaning onto his hands, partly covering his mouth. "I have a bad hunch."  
"I'm sorry to say but it's not going to be pretty", Historia sighed. "They kidnapped ten women in total. By the time we find their hideout, nine of them were dead. They said it was due to their reaction to my blood."  
Historia grimaced again, and I could feel myself shake. Marco's eyes fluttered closed.  
"But one survived, didn't she?" Marco offered silently. "One survived and gave birth to a baby."  
"Yes", Ymir nodded. "One survived."  
"Her name?" I asked, quietly.  
Even though I think I already knew.  
Historia lowered her eyes, and so did Ymir.  
Then, the mother of them all spoke, in a quiet little whisper that no one could have missed in a room as silent as that.

"Madam Kirstein."  
I closed my eyes.  
"Twenty one years ago", Historia continued. "She gave birth to a baby boy. Baby boy who seemed perfectly normal, perfectly human. Expect-"  
"His heart was shit", I finished. Marco's fingers gently touched my back, and I felt the weight of the beat on my chest heavier than ever before.  
"Yes."  
"So what am I?" I choked. "A failed test subject?"  
"If that's how you want to word it-"  
"YMIR."  
"Gee Historia, he said it himself."  
"Are you okay, Jean?" Historia continued, apparently ignoring the other woman. "I mean, you probably have a thousand questions right now?"  
"Yeah", I muttered. "Why has my mother never mentioned any of this? Or my father?"  
"We erased her memories."  
"What?" I asked, blinking stupidly. "Erased her memories?"  
"Yes, son", Ymir replied with a roll of her eyes. "That's how we pretend PTSD around this block."  
"B-but how?"  
"You remember when Historia here met you for the first time? Didn't she make clear she had told you something, but made you forgot? That's how."  
"What", I muttered. "You can erase memories, now?"  
"Erase or alter", Historia answered silently. "She thinks she was under surveillance in the hospital due to pregnancy complications. Why would she mention it? I don't think she wants to think about it."  
"You never told them about me?" I asked. "About their son? About why I was sick?"  
"No", Historia replied. "Because you fled."

I stared at her blankly.  
"What do you mean they fled?" Marco asked, then, squeezing my shoulder. "And why?"  
"They moved to Trost", Historia replied. "But they didn't tell us anything. Do you know how many Kirsteins there are? How widespread they are? There are Kirsteins all over the globe - China? Checked. India? Checked. USA? Checked. Germany, France, Denmark, all checked. Morocco? You bet your arse there were a few Kirsteins there, too. We had no idea where they fled, and how - we didn't even know your mother's first name."  
"You didn't know my mother's first name?" I questioned, quirking my eyebrows. "How come?"  
"She only called herself 'Madam Kirstein' when we asked her name", Historia replied, calmly. "For some reason, she was never reported missing like the other women. We didn't even know she was married - not until recently, that is."  
"What are you getting at?" I asked. "What is this all?"  
"You tell me", she shrugged. "We tried to ask her name. She told me she never tells her whole name to strangers."  
"How come that sounds familiar?" Marco muttered, looking at me. "Seems like you have some of your mother in you."  
"She taught me, yeah", I replied. "But what then? What happened after it?"  
"She was kept in a hospital, where they checked up on you and where I, naturally, did my work. We thought we could get more information out of her so we could protect your family and keep an eye on her and, well, you. But they fled, with help of one of our vampires in the hospital. It was a great mess."  
"What was their name?"  
"Hmm?"  
"The name of the worker who helped my mother escape?" I specified. Since I already knew she was friendly enough to cry into the chest of one vampire.  
Historia looked at Ymir as if to question her.  
"Hanji Daveau", Ymir then replied with a shrug. "A weird, androgynous looking fella, really new into the vampire business back then. Why, you know them?"

I gave Marco a look.  
"What was Hanji's surname, again?"  
"Zoe", he replied quietly. "But I'm not saying they haven't changed it. 'Weird, androgynous looking fella' sounds alot like them, not to mention they have been a vampire for a bit past twenty years. It adds up. Furthermore", he continued, gazing up to Ymir and Krista. "My flatmates, Reiner Braun and Bertolt Hoover once mentioned Madam Kirstein. Do you know them?"  
"How do you think I got info about your friends wellbeing?" Ymir asked. "We know Reiner quite well, he's one of the older folk around, and part of the council. His boyfriend I don't know that well, thought, but he was part of the rescue mission of the pregnant women the Titans kidnapped."  
"Just great", Marco sighed. "So basically everyone around me has been at least somewhat aware of all this while I have been kept in the dark."  
"Life's unfair, suck it up", Ymir shrugged. "Furthermore, we didn't need a suicidal kid mixed into this business. What good would you have had to offer?"  
"Ymir", Historia warned again, and Ymir gave her a look that spoke in volumes about how she felt about the issue. I decided to ignore it.  
"So, did you try to find me or something?"  
"Yes", Krista replied, rising up from Ymir's lap and tried to smooth her hair down. "As I said, we didn't know your mother was married. Her french was perfect, so she could have been a local." "Wait", I asked. "Her french?"  
"Yes?" Historia asked, tilting her head. "Did you not... know your parents lived in Rennes before your birth?"  
"No", I replied. "I thought they moved here way before I was even a plan in their heads."  
"I guess they lied, then", Historia shrugged. "But your mother said she was from Rennes, and the hospital we kept her in was also there. It's also where she disappeared from, so I'd guess she really lived there."  
"What the hell", I muttered. "Is there anything in my life I haven't been lied about?"  
"A lot", Historia said calmly. "Of course, there are rather... big things in your life that you haven't been informed about. But, to pick up where I left - we have been trying to find you. But we had no real clues - your mother could have married - don't look at me like that, we didn't know that she was married - or she could have just otherwise changed her surname. But it turned out the be enough to just move a good three thousand kilometers away. We searched and searched - first within France, of course. But as we couldn't find her, we moved to next country. Then another. Went through cities where there were any Kirsteins, checking them out."  
"It took you twenty years to get to Trost?" I noted. "That's long."  
"Well, for some reason we didn't guess she'd move to a puny seaside town here when logically she would have been harder to find in a bigger city."  
"And yet you fell for it", I replied. "She fooled you for twenty years."  
"I hate to admit it, but she did", Historia replied. "But you I have known of. Which is why we kept searching for so long."  
"Me you knew off?"  
"The dreams", she replied. "And I told you - I have felt your presence for all this time. So I knew you had to be alive somewhere, but I was never able to connect with you before your friend Marco here broke the rules and bit you."  
Marco flinched next to me. I caught his hand in mine to give it squeeze.

"If I understand correctly", I replied slowly. "You knew who I was when I stepped into your shop."  
"I did", Historia replied. "And yes, all those dreams, all this time, I lied to you."  
"Why?"  
"Why?" she exclaimed. "I didn't know if you knew - I was trying to fish it out of you. Trying to find out if you knew - but you didn't. You had no idea what I was talking about, that much became clear. I still didn't know you were in Trost - not before Sasha brought you into my shop, no. Of course I immediately knew then. I wanted to check you face to face, too - because I couldn't know if your dream self was just protecting the fact you knew, because our dream versions aren't always exactly what we are. They're somewhat... simpler, purer. More open to show their emotions, but also very good liars. That I have learned over the years. But I certainly wouldn't have guessed you'd intrude into my mind like that... which scared me stiff. It proved there was some crazy possibility to inherit my powers to people via my blood."  
"Nevermind that", I said. "But why in the hell do you even know Sasha? What do you owe her for?"  
"I almost got hit by a car", Ymir replied. "She was coming to the test shoot for our catalogue, and I was crossing the street. I, naturally, would have survived the hit, but how could she have known? So she jumped onto the road and pushed me from the way. If I was a human, I would have pretty much owed her my life. But because I am a vampire, I owe her due to the fact that people still think of me as human", Ymir ended with a shrug. "Your friend is kind of badass."  
"She's so reckless", I groaned. "She could have gotten herself killed, that idiot."  
"Oh trust me I told her that much", Ymir guffawed. "But she said she could not try, that she just trusted she could make it. She is an admirable woman."  
"I know", I replied. "That explains you owing her."  
"Funny that she was the one to make us meet", Ymir hummed. "Did you, by the way, know that you and your mother's address and phone numbers are protected? I couldn't get them from anywhere, and it was really bothersome finding you two. So thanks for that."  
"They are protected?" I asked, confused. "I didn't know. I guess mum likes secrecy more than I would have guessed."  
"At least we found you in the end", Ymir sighed. "But I'm sad to say, the Titans found you first."

That stopped me from reaching for the cocoa I finally wanted to sip on. Hand frozen mid air, I breathed out before slowly straightening my back.  
"What do you mean they found me first?" I asked carefully. "They only got to me today, didn't they?"  
"Have you forgotten?" Krista asked. "Those seven guys who beat you up? The ones Marco saved you from? The ones that he drove away for a second time when you were giving out food to the homeless? Before you ask, Reiner told me about them. He also told me that you, Marco, met someone named 'Jean Kirstein'."  
"But-", Marco started, quickly looking at me. "Those guys were humans. I can assure you that they were humans."  
"Yes, they were humans", Krista nodded. "Of course they were. What's the point of sending seven vampires after one single human boy? Because that's what Jean is, speaking of physical power, at least."  
"But", I hesitated on my turn. "Why... would humans be with the Titans?"  
"Curious, isn't it", Historia sighed. "That some people want to achieve immortality over all else, and that some just ache for greater power? That kind of people could all well fit into the Titans. Maybe they were promised immortality and great powers, even the powers of the original vampires, if they just helped the Titans to capture this one guy? Or who knows, maybe they were just promised drugs. You can never know. They failed twice. I don't think the Titans approved of that, knowing them from the past. Poor boys have probably turned into food already."

I felt sick. Kind of throw-up-right-now sick. I didn't know the guys. Hell, the only contact I ever had with them was when they tried to beat the shit out of me.  
But those guys had family somewhere.  
Friends.  
Lovers?  
Grandparents.  
Teachers, classmates.  
Bosses, coworkers.  
Store clerks who were used to their faces, and would now wonder where they disappeared.  
People who knew them, loved them, liked them. People who would ultimately miss them.  
Those boys had lives.  
The fact they were after me didn't ultimately make them bad people. They just made them bad people in my life. And now those boys were most likely dead.

How young were they? 19 to 26? That's too young, that's far too early to die. How would it feel? To have someone feed on you till you die?  
Marco said you'd lose your consciousness due to the drug on their teeth. But would they have enough time awake to feel sick from the loss of blood?  
Would those vampires bite their necks? Somewhere else where it'd really hurt? Did the boys feel betrayed? Scared? Where their last moments filled with rage and helplessness, in the hands of those much stronger than they could ever be?  
Or was it even worse, were they kept alive for days, until the vampires slowly bled them to death?

"Jean." Hands on my back again,  
drawing circles  
              circles  
              circles.  
"It's okay Jean. You are safe. Plus there was nothing you could have done."  
"They didn't deserve it", I choked out. "Those boys shouldn't have become a meal."  
"I know, I know", Marco murmured, hands never stopping. "It's not right. But we can't change it, Jean. If they're dead, they're dead. They could have been killed even if I hadn't been there to stop them."  
"Oh god", I gasped. "Oh god, oh my god Marco, _Marco_ , I would be dead if I hadn't met you."  
"Shhhs", Marco soothed me, slowly drawing me into a hug. "It's okay. You are alive, Jean."  
"I appreciate cuteness", Ymir informed. "But, for the love of everything, please pull yourself together, Jean. You have time to cry after all this is over. Plus I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be dead, because the titans sure as hell don't want you dead before they are sure they can't use you to create perfect vampires."  
"Okay", I breathed out, not exactly feeling calmer by the fact I could have become a test subject. Again.

"Okay. What are we doing?" I then asked, looking around the room. "I mean, are we staying here, wherever this is, or?"  
"We are trying to figure out if we could host you two - and your mother, naturally - somewhere safe. Somewhere that is far away from Trost. We are looking into our connections right now. But we will probably have to send your mother somewhere else than you, Jean, for her own sake."  
"Britain", I replied immediately. "She has work connections there. Is that safe enough?"  
"I know quite a few trustworthy vampires in Scotland", Krista nodded, looking up to Ymir who nodded back at her. "She can leave under the pretense of visiting her colleagues, but be moved into safety. Yes, that sounds good. What about you two? Any ideas? I'm thinking about my friend who made Sasha and Connie's rings, but she's hard to get hold of because she doesn't really like phones."  
"What about Hungary", Marco offered. "In the house of Mészáros Eszter and her living- in girlfriend Sándor Réka. Eszter will pick up if I call her, anytime, anyday."  
"Mészáros Eszter", Historia repeated slowly. "Ymir, wasn't she a member of the court in the 1800's?"  
"Oh my god", Marco wheezed. "Even more people tied into this?"  
"I think she was", Ymir nodded, ignoring Marco. "It's not that often that you met fellow lesbian vampires. I remember her, definitely. She's living with a girlfriend now? That's great."  
"It is", Historia nodded. "I have never heard of this... Réka, was it, before."  
"Sándor Réka", Marco repeated. "She has only been a vampire for a bit over a year."  
"I wonder when Eszter planned on reporting her to us", Historia muttered. "Well, it doesn't matter. Eszter was a good court member back on her day. You know her well?"  
"Yes", Marco nodded. "Reiner got her to come over to his place and she taught me how to be a vampire. Gave me a lot of hope, too, and something to look forward to."  
"We don't need your sob stories, to be honest", Ymir cut in. "Just the knowledge that you deem her trustworthy."  
"Then, I deem her trustworthy" Marco replied. "But is it really okay?"  
"Is what okay?" Ymir asked, cocking her brow.  
"Is it okay for us to run away?"

Marco stood up tall, his pose strong and ready. "Is it okay that we run away?" he repeated. "Or do you need us to help you here?"  
"We need you here", Historia replied. "But not now. Not yet. First, we need you safe until we have a plan. Then, we need you back. Jean included. You won't like this, Marco, but I think he will be a needed bait to lure the Titans in."  
"I figured out that much", Marco nodded. "How long do you think we could be there without things turning into hell in Trost? How long time do you need, and more importantly, how long can you hold the Titans off our backs?"  
"Three weeks", Krista replied, bringing up three thin fingers. "Five, at the best. But three I can promise you."  
"Three weeks", Marco nodded, glancing to me. "I don't know how you feel about it Jean, but I think we should go."  
"Sure", I replied, not really sure what else to say. "But I don't have my passport with me."  
"Don't worry", Ymir replied. "I will pull some strings and get you and Marco on board without."  
"How - you can't-?"  
"Trust me", Ymir hummed. "I can. I work with relocating vampires. I am an expert on this. It will need some bribing but I think I'll have you two all safe and set."  
"Good", Historia nodded. "Marco, can you teach Jean the best you can within these three weeks? Martial arts, mostly."  
"Sure", Marco nodded. "Does Eszter have any knowledge on the Titans?"  
"Most likely not much", Historia said, shaking her head. "But I will get the info across to her, where she can teach it forward. Jean, drink your cocoa. There was a night pizzeria close by - what kind of pizza do you want? I will get you something because you need to eat."  
"Uh", I replied eloquently. "Shrimp, mussels and tuna, please. If they have, add blue cheese."  
"Noted. Ymir, Marco - when have you last eaten?"  
"Last week", Ymir replied.  
"Two weeks ago", Marco replied.  
"Ymir, I will get you blood later. Marco, there's blood on the fridge. Drink it."  
"What kind?"  
"A+, I assume."  
"Bollocks", Marco muttered. "Just my luck."  
"No time to be a picky eater, now. You need something to fuel you."

Marco seemed to be contemplating whether or not showing his tongue would be appropriate or not when my phone started ringing. Krista turned back towards us from where she was already resting her hand on the door handle, with curious eyes.  
"Who is it?"  
"My mum", I replied as I got the phone fished from my pocket. "Do I answer?"  
"Sure", Krista nodded. "Put it on speaker. We can explain to her that she needs to leave."  
"Alright", I said, swiping the call open and immediately pressing the speaker. "Hi, mamma!"  
"Jean", my mum said, not even bothering with a hello. "Where are you?"  
"Uh", I replied, raising my brows. "I'm with Marco."  
"But you are not at his place."  
"How-", I started, looking at Marco, my surprise mirrored on his face. "How do you know?"  
"Because there is no 'Marco's' anymore. The house is burnt to charcoal."  
I almost dropped my phone, and Marco's face went three shades paler.  
"W-what", I stammered. "Burned-?"  
"Yes", mum replied. "No bodies inside. Just a message sprayed on the street before it. Police is thinking it's gang related."  
"What's the message?" I asked carefully. Krista had slowly walked back next to us, and she was leaning to the couch behind me now, past my shoulder with her blonde hair tickling my cheek. She didn't breathe like Marco, I noticed, as no cold breath touched my cheek.  
"Titans", my mother replied. "Just 'Titans'."  
I turned to look at the blue eyes, so close to mine now.  
"Three weeks?" I asked, and she blinked slowly.  
"I might..." she started, hesitating. "Have to... take that back."  
"Wait", my mother's voice blared from the phone on my hand. "Why are you with _her_?"

The blue eyes blinked again, and Historia's mouth fell slightly open. I could feel my face mirroring hers.  
"What do you mean, Maria?" Marco asked, leaning to grab the phone from my hand. "Do you know her?"  
"Of course I know her", my mother replied. "How could I not know Historia Reiss?"  
"What", Historia sputtered. "What's going on?"  
"I wanted to ask you that", my mother replied from the phone. "But I guess you are keeping my boy safe."  
"Madam Kirstein", Ymir said this time. "How on the Earth do you know Historia?"  
"How could I know not know of the goddess of your race?"  
"Mum", I hurried to say. "Mum what the hell is going on? Do you know about the Titans and vampires?"  
"Idiot!" Ymir snapped, whacking the back of my head. "Don't say it so recklessly! How are you going to explain yourself if she doesn't?"  
"Oh, but I do."

 _Right_. And I had thought this couldn't have gotten any more complicated.  
"Maria", Marco then said. "If you aware of the severity of the situation, you should understand that we want you safe as soon as possible."  
"Marco Bott", my mother replied sternly. "Are you implying that I should _escape_? I am disappointed in you."  
"But -"  
"No buts, Marco. There's no way I would escape."  
"But mum-"  
"No buts from you either, Jean."  
"Mother", I replied, sighing.”Mother, please. Explain what the hell is going on."  
"Before that", Historia suddenly spoke up. "Please get away from that house. The Titans must be watching it."  
"I am not stupid enough to stay there", mum replied. "I'm in car with my companions. I suggest we meet each other."  
"Who are your companions, Madam Kirstein?" Historia asked. "I want both first and last names."  
"Certainly, miss. My companions are Mr Erwin Smith, Mr Levi Acker and Mx Hanji Zoe. Thought you probably know them as Hanji Daveau."  
"Who is Levi Ackerman?" Historia asked, tilting her head. "The other two I know."  
"A baker", I told her. "From Saddle Street; Ackerman  & Co. Marco works for him sometimes. In relationship with Mr Smith and Mx Hanji and... uh... my neighbour."

Marco buried his face into his free hand. "I feel so stupid", he muttered. "I feel so incredibly stupid."  
I didn't say it aloud, but I certainly felt the same.  
"So", Historia said, rubbing her temples. "You guys are the rumoured 'Survey Corps', aren't you? The ones that have been killing members of Titans the last few years, and the ones who invented the blood pills around ten years ago."  
"On your service, miss", my mother replied. "Thought I am sad to inform you that the one of the two inventors of these blood pills has already passed away."  
"Passed away?" Historia asked, her voice painted with surprise. "You had more human member than just you and this baker?"  
"Yes. My late husband."

"Oh", I muttered. "I give up. I just give up."  
"Jean?"  
"Marco, if you are stupid I'm an imbecile - I literally grew up in middle of this shit and had no idea."  
"I'm sorry we kept you in the dark, Jean."  
"Are you, really?" I asked the phone, burrowing my brows. "I think you just hoped I'd never have to find out. That I could die a human death or some shit."  
"Well, there's that, too."  
"Great", I groaned. "Just great."  
"Jean", Historia said, gently pressing her hand atop mine. "You have all the right to be upset. But please, bear with it for a moment. And you, Madam Kirstein - where do you want to meet us?"  
There was a bit of shuffling sounds, as if the phone was moved around. Then, a voice I recognized well started talking.  
"Levi Ackerman on the phone", he started. "I'd like to suggest the bomb shelter under my bakery."  
"Levi!" Marco exclaimed. "Levi, is everything alright there?"  
"Well hello to you too, brat", Levi replied with a scoff. "All is under control for now. We are just about to arrive in Saddle Street. What's the situation of the people there?"  
Marco gave us all a once over.  
"Not too good", he then replied. "One seriously injured, three somewhat bruised. At least two of us vampires need blood, and Jean definitely needs food and good rest. We all do, probably."  
"Are you able to transport here safely?" Marco gave Historia a look. She shook her head and motioned Marco to give the phone to her.  
"We don't have any vehicles", she said once the device was safely on her grip. "And my partner has injured both her leg and and hand. Jean wouldn't be safe on the streets. The Titans are aware of our looks. We have no real possibilities of getting out of here without trouble by ourselves."  
"Were you followed to your current destination?"  
"No", Historia replied. "That I can assure you on. I have sharper senses than your average vampire."  
"I am aware of this", came a blatant reply. "Give me your address. I'm coming to get you with my bakery van."  
"Bakery van, sir?" Historia asked.  
"Did I stutter? Yes, my bakery van. Enough space in the back to hide four dumbasses and no windows you could be seen through there. All you have to worry about is getting in without being noticed."

It was Ymir's turn to snatch the phone for herself.  
"Get yourself and your shitty van to Railway Road 11, then", she snarled. "And just so that you know, if you turn out to be working for the Titans and this all is a trap, I won't give a fuck about how broken my hand might be because it'll be my personal mission to beat your ass to the depths of hell using some cheap ass Hello Kitty chopsticks."  
"Oh, I like you", Levi replied, in the exactly same monotone as before, but adding a chuckle to the end. "I will be there in ten minutes, so get your asses ready."  
"Great. See you then", Ymir replied and hung up the call before anyone had time to stop her. "  
YMIR!" "What?" she asked, irritatedly. "There's no time for babbling right now. Marco - no, actually, _Historia_ \- you drink the blood right now. You are the one we need the most if this turns to hell. The rest of us can eat once we arrive in that goddamn bakery."  
"Okay", Historia sighed. "You have a point. Marco, how trustworthy is this man?"  
"I'd place my life in his hands in a heartbeat if the situation asked for it."  
"Well, that's great", Historia replied rather sarcastically. "Because that's exactly what you are doing right now. Okay, buckle up everybody. Put your shoes back on and get mentally ready to flee just in case."  
"Roger", I muttered, and Marco and Ymir nodded. I stood up tiredly and walked towards the door we had entered the room in and pulled on my shoes. Then, I sauntered tiredly into the bathroom and turned on the tap, leaning my head under the running cold water.

It took Marco three minutes to get worried enough to actually follow me into the room.  
"Jean", he said quietly, carefully placing his hand between my shoulder blades. "I think that's enough."  
I pulled myself from under the water and closed the tap with a sigh, meeting Marco's eyes in the mirror.  
"You look like half drowned dog, Jean."  
"At least not like a horse", I muttered, running a hand through my now dripping wet hair. It was left half standing where my fingers brushed against the hair.  
"Too handsome for one", Marco replied, slipping his hands around my waist and leaning his jaw on my shoulder. "Don't you agree?"  
"Who knows", I replied, leaning my head against the side of his. "Too tired to think."  
"It's been an incredibly heavy day", Marco hummed, letting his eyes fall closed. "And it's not even over yet."  
"Yeah", I muttered, placing my hands gently atop of Marco's. "How are you doing?"  
"Not very good", Marco replied, squeezing me a little tighter. "But I have you, so I know I can make it. How about you, Jean?"  
The eyes opened to look at me in the mirror once more.  
"Well", I replied, twisting my mouth into a terribly forced smile. "It could be worse, I guess."  
"I know", Marco agreed. "But it could be way better, too."  
"Don't you say."  
"It kind of sucks how we have been living in the middle of this all, and yet we seem to be the only ones left outside of all this information", Marco noted. "It's kind of disheartening. But I am pretty sure it's worse for you than me."  
"Can't lie that both of my parents being involved with vampires wouldn't be kind of a shocker."  
"To think your dad invented the pills that gave away my true identity to you", Marco chuckled. "I don't know whether it's hilarious or not."  
"Me neither", I replied. "But I'm glad he invented those damn pills because they gave me you."  
"Mmmmmh", Marco mumbled, burying his face deeper into the crook of my neck. "I am glad, too."

"Guys!" Ymir shouted from the other room. "Stop being all lovey-dovey and get ready."  
"Shut your face", I muttered, knowing full well she could hear it. Marco chuckled and shook his head.  
"She's got a point, Jean."  
"I dunn wanna go yet", I whined. Marco just chuckled again and kissed the back of my neck before removing his hands from my person.  
"Come on, let's go", he then said, taking my hand into his and tugging at it.  
With a sigh, I turned to follow him out of the room.

***

We managed to make our way to the back of Levi's van without trouble, and after he took us back to the bakery via a crazy ass route - that he told us to be a part of his normal shopping and delivery route later on - we found ourselves hurried into his bakery's basement a good half an hour later, from a staircase hidden in his garage.

Right now, I was staring at my mother’s face and she was silently staring back at me.  
It was awkward.  
Incredibly so.  
And I was kind of angry, for real.

The whole room was awkwardly silent, to be honest. Levi had left us alone on the grey toned underground room after pulling out blankets and pillows out of what seemed to be a small clothing storage, showing me the little bathroom and the vampires the fridge with blood. We had settled down on the floor and the sofa (we let Ymir take the sofa so she could lay down for a while, and I was sitting on the ground with Marco, leaning our backs to the side of it), the vampires all with a bag of blood on their hands now. Marco had asked me if he should move, but I shook my head, telling him that I am already used to him drinking blood and wouldn't mind. So my boyfriend was slowly drinking his B+ out of the bag with a neon green straw as I leaned onto his side, a blanket draped over my shoulders and my hands wrapped around my knees, nodding off a little and trying to stay awake. The emptiness of my stomach helped with that a little, I admit. But my limbs felt heavy like lead, and I thought that I probably could sleep a little. That was, until my mother stepped into the room.

"Hello", she greeted us with a nod. "Nice to see you made it here in one piece."  
"More or less", Ymir grunted with a wave of her hand. "Where are the rest of you Survey folks?"  
"Right here", my mother replied, stepping away from the door to let in the two men and one tall ball of goof. Then, she turned and locked her eyes on me.

I think she had been planning on saying something to me, but the rage in my eyes must have shocked her wordless. So there I was, staring at my mother while my guts were _roiling_ with anger, her stature slowly sinking under my leer when Erwin finally spoke up.  
"I'm Erwin Smith", he said, nodding at Historia and Ymir's direction. "The leader of Survey Corps. It's a pleasure to have you here."  
"Historia Reiss", Historia replied. "But I assume you know that much. This is my wife, Ymir Reiss."  
"Yo", Ymir replied, slowly raising her healthy hand again, still keeping her eyes shut tight. "Your neighbourhood witch on the service."  
My mother's eyebrows jumped at that, and there was a slight twitch to be seen on the brows of Mr Ackerman, too. I had half the mind asking that hadn't they seen a witch before, but kept my mouth shut since I still had some self control left. No point in being too much of an arse in my situation. Probably.  
"Nice to meet you, Ymir", Erwin said politely, nodding again. "And I already know Marco and Jean - nice to meet you again, boys."  
I offered a curt nod, whereas Marco's was more polite and sincere. I guess he was the kind that was able to keep his manners even while being seriously pissed off. Which I assumed him to be, but who knew, really? Definitely not me.  
"And this is our scientist and the other mastermind behind the blood pills - Hanji Zoe", Erwin then continued, pointing to surprisingly silent looking Hanji. They raised their hand to a little wave, locking their eyes with Historia's.  
"Hanji Daveau to you", they then said with a shrug. "It's been a while, Mrs."  
"It's been a while", Historia replied coolly, the tone of her voice a clear indication that she had not let down Hanji turning their back on her.

"And as you all probably know by now, this is Anne-Maria Kirstein", Mr Smith continued, gesturing to my mother.  
"Maria, please", she then said, finally averting her gaze from my person. "We met around 22 years ago."  
"We haven't forgotten about you, Madam Kirstein", Ymir muttered. "Thanks for making us run all across the globe looking for you."  
"And this", Erwin continued, silently dismissing Ymir's comment. "Is the owner of this building and the other of the two current human members of the Survey - Levi Ackerman."  
"Know that you are dead if you trash the place", he said coldly, and I'm sure no one in the room had a second doubt about him being serious about what he said. Ymir opened her eyes and gazed at the short man somewhat approvingly before straightening herself and hissing a little.

"Alright then", she then said. "Now we have played it nice and know each other's names. There are two dudes in the Trost hospital that kind of work with us, names are Reiner Braun and Bertolt Hoover. Ring any bells?"  
"I'm aware of their existence since they volunteer a lot in the blood center, but I have no personal connection to them", Erwin replied. "But I am glad to know you have more connections close by." "They aren't the only ones", Ymir informed, raising her brow halfway smugly. "But they're currently closest by. So, Mr Eyebrow, mind telling us about your little association with these people. You could start about why you worked behind the backs of the council."  
"Certainly", Erwin replied, his face emotionless in front of the nickname. Hanji, on the other hand, was smirking and had turned their face to the side. "But it'll take some time. So let us go upstairs so we can sit comfortably around a table while we talk."  
"Jean", Levi said, gesturing Erwin to be silent for a while. "I will warm some food for you. Is pasta and salmon okay with you?"  
"Perfect, thanks", I replied a bit meekly. Levi nodded, and then turned towards the door.  
"Well?" he then asked, halfway through it already. "Are you going to come upstairs or not? It's a back room without windows, so you are safe from enemies."  
"Also soundproof", Hanji suddenly spoke up. "I made sure no vampire can hear conversations held in that room from the outside. It wasn't easy, but since I have had a lot of good research material, I have been able to reduce the maximal hearing ability that vampires can posses. Even though it's still tied to the pitches humans can hear, vampires can hear decibels as silent as-"  
"Shitty glasses", Levi grunted. "Stop talking and get your arse upstairs."  
Hanji shut their mouth abruptly, smiling at us and nodding before pushing themself past Levi on the door, making their way up the stairs on energetic little jumps, leaving half of the room staring after themself in silence.

"I am all fine with following you upstairs", Marco slowly spoke up. "But I am begging you - please make this talk short. We all need rest. Especially Jean. We haven't had any rest since this all started, and it's has been what, sixteen hours now? More? I don't care about how much energy you guys have, because frankly I'm angry at you, but if you truly are on our side you should think about our condition and give us a possibility to rest safely to collect our energies now that we still can. We can always talk later. But we, me as a young vampire and Jean as a human, we need our sleep more than any of you old farts. But we also have all the right to be there to hear what you have to say, just like everyone else in this room. I'm tired of being left out of vital information, and I can sure as hell assure you that Jean is tired of it, too. So make it short, let us rest, and tell us more afterwards. I'm tired, utterly, utterly tired of the way you have treated us. So please straighten your acts immediately."  
Ymir whistled lowly, chuckling a quiet ' _yaiks, he is angry_ ' afterwards, but Marco's eyes stayed glued onto Levi's, fearless and stern.  
"Understood", Levi then replied. "So could I get you upstairs, now?"  
"Yes", Marco said, extending his hand towards me without even turning to look. "Come Jean. Let's get this over with."  
I took his hand wordlessly, letting him pull me up and past my mother, past Erwin, past Levi and up onto the stairs.  
Up a step  
      step  
step,  
seemingly endless steps until he finally pulled me into a rather small, but cozy room with a sofa and a round dining table on the bigger side, with eight chairs neatly around it.

"Oh", Hanji greeted us, a plate of what seemed to be the pasta and salmon Levi had mentioned in their hands. "Please sit down, I will be getting you something to drink, Jean. Is Sprite okay?" "Yeah", I nodded. "Thought if you have something with alcohol I won't say no to that."  
"Toffee Apple cider is all that you will find from this bakery", Hanji answered with a shrug. "Since Levi has taste for sweet drinks. Is that okay?"  
"As long as I am not getting killed, it's fine."  
"Then I will get it for you", Hanji said, settling the plate on the table. "The food is ready to eat, I warmed it accordingly to a research of which temperature humans most prefer their food in according to the climate they live in."  
"Uh", I mumbled. "T-thanks?"  
"You are welcome", they replied with a nod and scurried out of the room.

I sat silently at the table, Marco following me close by and taking the chair on my left. Levi followed us into the room, had one look at the food in front of me before following Hanji through the door they had scurried through, soon to return with the scientist and two brown bottles.  
"Here", he said, settling one before me. "Better drink it before it gets too warm."  
"Thanks", I sighed, looking at the bottle cap still settled into it's place. "Can I borrow a bottle opener, though?"  
"No need", Marco said, taking the bottle into his hands. "I can open that for you."  
"How - oh, okay", I muttered as Marco simply twisted the cap out of it's place. "Those aren't meant to be twisted open, man."  
"I'm a vampire, I don't follow the rules", Marco shrugged, pushing the bottle back in front of me. "That's how life goes."  
"I'd rather like it if you followed the rules", Levi said, removing his own cap by hitting it to the sole of his shoe. I turned my gaze back to the door to the stairway, ignoring the little feeling of shame lingering in my stomach.  
"They're sure taking their time", I commented when the doorway still stayed empty after a moment of my observation. "Like, really taking it."  
"K- Historia doesn't want to let Ymir come up the stairs by herself", Marco replied, tilting his head towards the door that was cracked open. "At least, I think that's what they're talking about. I can barely hear them. Oh, okay, I think she's carrying her."  
"She's what?" "Historia. Oh, yes, that's definitely Ymir swearing. I think they're coming right up."  
Hanji was kind enough to silently pull the door open as the voices got close enough for even me to hear through the crack. The opened door revealed the bickering couple, Ymir in an awkward looking princess hold in Historia's tiny arms followed by Erwin and my mother, who silently pulled the door closed after herself. Krista carefully settled her wife down to the chair next to me in a way that showed that carrying Ymir hadn't drained her powers at all. Then she settled down to the chair next to Ymir who was giving my food a suspicious leer, but didn't comment on it as I silently kept eating. It was probably a delicious meal, but I was too tired to really care and could have been eating cardboard for all I cared. At least I still somewhat recognized that the bubbling liquid washing over my tongue was, indeed, sweet.

It took awhile for everyone to settle down to their places, but in the end Hanji was settled to Marco's other side, Erwin at their side and Levi on his, my mother between the short baker and queen of vampires. My mother didn't seem too pleased to be seated next to Historia, but didn't voice her opinions under the sweet but weirdly malicious looking smile Historia was giving her. I thought to offer my mother the reassuring thought that Krista was probably just sizing her up to make sure that she 1) wouldn't run off this time and 2) she wouldn't even think about laying her fingers on Ymir. But in the end, I decided that I was still too mad at her and enjoyed her discomfort just a little, and opted for gulping down more of the sweet, bubbled liquid. There was that sensation of anxiety before the big news hanging in the silence of the room, but somehow it seemed dulled, more tired than it usually would. Lowkey excitement and fear for the still yet unheard news being drowned under the need for sleep.  
"Do I seriously need to start?" Marco asked, finally breaking the silence. "I expected more of you, Erwin."  
"Rest assured, I was just wondering if you had something to say", the blond man replied with a polite smile. "But it seems that you are more eager to hear what I have to say."  
"More than eager. Dying to, even."  
"Well, then I shouldn't hold you in the suspense any longer", the man replied with a nod. "Hanji, please, give them the facts."  
"Yes, sir", Hanji replied, gleam in their eyes. "Alright, I will keep it short. I think you are all at least somewhat aware of what happened to Madam Kirstein around twenty-two years ago, correct?"  
The circle nodded silently.  
"The Survey was formed around a year after this, in the agreement that such things as this should never happen again. The Survey was formed with vampires and humans who were disappointed in the council's disability to help these women and exterminate the Titans. But it wasn't only that - Survey was also founded in the hope of peaceful coexistence between vampires and humans." Historia squinted her eyes slightly, and Hanji shuddered.  
"As for why we took Madam Kirstein with us back then", they continued, turning their gaze to my mother. "It was because we were already acquainted back then."  
"What?" I asked blankly - and loud. "What the hell do you mean?"  
"Uh", Hanji replied, their hand slipping into the dirty mess of brown locks. "I was your father's childhood friend?"  
"Right", I said. "So you are actually what, fifty?"  
"46", Hanji replied with a shrug. "Your father was like a big brother I never had. Annoying big brother who I shared college classes with. Since I skipped some years in school."  
"Of course you did", I muttered, sighing. "So, what- you just wanted to become a vampire then?" "  
No, not exactly", Hanji sighed. "But since my brain tumor threatened to end both my life _and_ my research, I took the chance to become a vampire when it was offered."  
"Wait", I stopped them. "A brain tumor?"  
"World is surprising, isn't it?" Hanji asked. "Now, though - it's healed."  
"What do you mean it's healed?"  
"I mean what I say. There is no tumor in my brain these days." Hanji held my stare tight, before sighing again and closing their eyes. "That's why I study young vampires. I believe that there's a possibility to find some kind of cure-all from their blood. But so far, I don't know how I could ever do it without turning all my patients. And that's no good. I'd rather not make new vampires before I figure out the secret to undoing the process - if there even is possibility for that - but anyway, thanks to the Survey, I have been able to continue my research, and I was able to help my fellow vampires a little already."  
"Hanji, whereas your and Guillaume's story is beautiful and this is all interesting info, I'd prefer it if you returned to the case at hands."  
"Yes, sir, I apologize. So the facts were these: Survey was dissatisfied with council's weakness, and decided to become a more aggressive power within the vampire world. Which we, as in the founding members, knew to be a risk since it could get you, the council, up our backs - but we decided that what we wanted to do would ultimately always be worth dying for."  
Hanji took a deep breath, and gazed up to the only person in the room that wasn't breathing.  
"There are currently 83 confirmed Survey members, positioned throughout the world. Around ten of us are in Trost or its surrounding cities at all times, to protect Madam Kirstein and her son. Three of them living right by their home to ensure the best protection."  
"What is your plan now?" Historia asked, leaning forward. "And how come the Titans managed to found the people you protected so vulnerable?"  
"The plan now is to exterminate the Titans", Hanji replied, leaning forward, too. "Down to the last member who resists. We want to write the organisation off. As for why they found Jean... well, we needed to lure them out somehow, didn't we?"  
Historia brought her hands to her temples again, rubbing circles there.  
"We didn't mean to get Jean beaten up though. We just never expected the Titans to send in humans. It was clever of them."  
"So you completely underestimated your enemy", Historia simplified, burying her face into her palms. "Great."  
"Everyone makes mistakes now and then", Hanji answered calmly. "Even you, Mrs Reiss."  
"Oh, I know", Historia replied, not bothering to lift her face. "I haven't forgotten what trusting you once caused me."  
I could hear Marco gasping next to me, and even though Hanji's face was blank their stature lowered.

"My theory", Hanji spoke up, softer now. "For why Titans took this long to re-attack, is because of Marco. They probably didn't think he had anything to do with vampires, but as Marco intertwined with what ultimately was supposed to be Jean's capture, twice to be more exact, it must have made them wary. Which worries me, because even though we hide our tracks well, it's possible that the Titans have some kind of information about the Survey's existence in Trost. Certainly they followed you close enough to figure out where Marco lives, and that two of his flatmates were also vampires. Because if they hadn't know, I daresay they wouldn't have send in so many people. But I never guessed they'd actually attack Mrs Reiss, too."  
"I have my own theory for that", Ymir said, straightening herself a little. "I assume they attacked us because they thought we were here to protect Jean. Since Historia and I were both part of Madam Kirstein's rescue mission with Reiner Braun and Bertolt Hoover. The Titans could all well just be thinking that the five of us are hiding and keeping Jean safe. Four veterans in this case, and one young vampire of appropriate age to hang around Jean as his 'friend' to guard him. It's something I could see them thinking."  
"It's possible that you are right", Erwin interfined. "But we cannot underestimate them again - it's fully possible they expect you to have hidden troops somewhere."  
"Of course", Ymir nodded. "But since none arrived today, it should look like we have none or, at least, that we have none of those close by. They are probably keeping keen eye on Trost and its surroundings for the next few days to see if there's a rise in the number of vampires around."  
"If your assumption is correct, they are probably also looking for vampires that are acting weirdly", Erwin mentioned. "Which would mean that the three of us need to leave this bakery any time soon, like we would on any other Wednesday. Would you prefer us to act on this assumption, and leave the rest of the talking until tomorrow?"  
"I am fine with it", Ymir replied with a shrug. "And I am sure these guys are knackered by now, so yes, why not. Are there places where we can safely rest?"  
"Yes", Erwin nodded. "I'll leave explaining these things to Levi. But before that - is everyone okay with this talk ending here for the night?"  
"I am fine", Historia replied, and I nodded with Marco. None of the Survey members seemed to have any comments to give, and my mother seemed to be too busy staring at her nails to even look at me anymore.  
"Then it's decided", Erwin announced, rising up. "We come back to the bakery around six in the morning. You, however, are free to rest as long as you desire." "This clear", Ymir yawned. "Now, where do we rest?"

Erwin turned his gaze to the short man, who sighed.  
"You two Reiss ladies could rest here", Levi then said. "The sofa behind you can be pulled out to be a bed. I will help you with setting it up, and showing you whatever you need to see around the house. Hanji, please take these two to the guest room. Moblit can sleep on the sofa when he arrives."  
"Moblit?" Historia asked, her voice sharp. "Who is this person?"  
"Moblit Berner", Levi answered. "Lab assistant slash research partner of Mx Zoe, and one of the younger members of the Survey. He comes around to work on Hanji's lab on the weekends, but spends his weeks down on his university dorms. A good, trustworthy kid. If you are still here when he comes around, I will introduce you."  
"Noted", Historia said, her eyes a little squinted. "Please warn us about any additional visitors beforehand."

I didn't get to hear Levi's reply to that, because Hanji walked up to me and Marco and dragged us out of the room without much of a warning. We stumbled after them through the door they had gone through earlier to get the drinks. We walked across the small room with a fridge to another set of hidden stairs - this time upwards instead of down, though, and hidden behind a shelf instead of inside a closet.  
"Here", they said as we reached the top, pushing open the lone door and switching the lights on in the room. "Vampire safe as long as you keep both of the doors closed. I mean safe as in no one should be able to hear you. There are no windows, so it's safe in the sense that no one can spot you through them, either. I'll make your bed, so you can look around meanwhile. There's a mini fridge on the corner, and the door leads to small lavatory."  
"Oh", Marco mumbled. "I can set the bed-"  
"No no", Hanji said, shaking their head. "Let the former hotel cleaner do it. You sit down, use the toilet, whatever, there should be some unused toothbrushes and towels there if you want to wash up. You can even set up a bath if you want to relax a little before bed. You can borrow some of Moblits sleepwear - it's all washed, don't feel too bad about it - and I will be bringing you some fresh clothes in the morning."  
"Okay", I mumbled. "I'm gonna put the bath on, I need that."  
"I will help you", Marco said, taking my hand. "Lets go figure out the secret of this house's shower."  
"What do you mean?" "I mean", Marco chuckled. "That we need to figure out how to turn on the hot water."  
"Worry not", Hanji chirped from where they were pulling bedclothes out of a wooden closet. "The bathroom was renovated a few years back so it's modern and easy to use."  
"That's good to hear", I replied, pulling Marco towards the bathroom. "Thank you."

The bathroom wasn't very spacious - just the bathtub, toilet and little - and I mean tiny - faucet with a mirror above it, and a little level on the wall for toothpaste and brushes. A few bottles of shampoo and soap were neatly arranged in a small basket by the tub that I made my way to.  
"You start filling it", I suggested, letting go of Marco's hand. "And I will pick a scent. Are you gonna take a bath, too?"  
"We could share one?" Marco suggested, leaning to observe the tub closer by. "I don't know if this is needy, but after today I would rather not let you out of my sight for a while."  
"Not at all", I muttered. "I understand perfectly. Is, errr.... strawberry an okay scent?"  
"Strawberry?" "Well, the choices are strawberry, mango passion and errr... I think that's pomegranate?"  
"Pomegranates smell good."  
"Let's go with that then", I nodded, opening the bottle. "Can I put it on?"  
"Yup", Marco replied, turning on the water. "It should be all set, now."  
"Good", I hummed, turning the bottle and letting a generous amounts of the surprisingly colourless liquid to fall into the fastly filling tub. "And Marco."  
"Mm?"  
"I don't want to let you out of my eyes either."

Somehow, the tiles of that tiny room seemed to echo the silence harder than anything.  
"I'm going down now!" Hanji shouted from the other room. "I left my number on the table, so text me if you need me."  
"My phone is out of battery and Marco's is broken", I replied, blankly staring at a tile on the wall that was upside down seeing its neighbours. "We can't text you."  
"There's landline on the corner by the fridge, call me then", Hanji replied. "Okay, going now. I'm shutting the doors, but you should latch them from inside later on, okay?"  
"Roger", I replied, my eyes still at the wall. "See you tomorrow."  
"Till tomorrow!" Hanji's voice singsonged, before there was a click and the sound of a closing door.

Marco sighed.  
"Tomorrow, eh?" he wondered, turning his gaze to me.  
"It's somehow absurd to talk about tomorrow."  
"Feels unreal", I replied, taking his offered hand. "That we have a tomorrow."  
"Mmh", Marco hummed. "It does. Okay. I need a bath. Sleep. And a big, long hug."  
"You can get them all", I replied, extending my free hand to his chest, tumbling at the buttons. "You can have it all, Marco. Because we are here right now, alive or something like it, and we can start with the bath right now. Relax our muscles and minds. Then, we can wear some stranger's pajamas to bed and snuggle all night long. And in the morning, when we wake, we can just hug again for as long as we want. Before facing anything."  
"And make some banana pancakes", Marco chuckled as I managed to open the last of his buttons. "And pretend that we have nothing to do and nowhere to go."  
"Sounds amazing", I replied, gently letting go of his hand to push the shirt off his shoulders. "Whose song was that, again?"  
"Jack Johnson."  
"You know what", I said, dropping his shirt down to the floor. "Tomorrow, we should listen through that guy's whole discography. He sounds like he has good attitude to life."  
"Alright", Marco said, smiling a little. "We will have to borrow someone's phone or Levi's laptop. I wonder if he'll let us?"  
"I do wonder", I smiled back at him. "If nothing else, I'll ask him to ask my mother to bring our tablet here."  
"That reminds me. I wonder where your mother is sleeping?"  
"Probably at home", I replied with a shrug before pulling off my own shirt, grimacing at its state. "I mean... she is no use to the Titans anymore, and the three lives next to her anyway."  
"No use to them?" Marco asked, starting to unfasten my belt. I slipped my hands in between his to work on his brown one.  
"She can't give birth anymore", I replied. "She told me some years ago that she and dad wanted a second child, but she couldn't get pregnant anymore. Said some medication caused her to lose her periods some years after my birth. I guess that in reality she lost them because of me, though."  
"Not you", Marco reminded, moving onto the buttons of my jeans. "The Titans, and Historia's blood."  
"I guess so", I replied, opening his fly and pushing his pants down his thighs. "It's just hard not to blame myself." 

"Naturally", Marco replied, tugging at my pants before removing his hands to push his own ones past his knees and stepping out of them. I followed his example quietly, as Marco spoke again: "It's always so easy to blame yourself."  
"Yeah", I sighed, pulling my boxers down, too. "But I guess no one can blame us for a hundred year old organization wanting to fuck up the world."  
"They can't", Marco nodded, pushing his own boxers down. They weren't seen through, nor did they have hearts on them. Just black and grey, official and boring.

Somehow, I felt like crying because I knew I wouldn't be seeing those stupid see through boxers ever again. Nor the ones he wore when he gave me the coffee, nor the ones with a fox print. Neither the ones with roses. And it wasn't just that- the realisation that _burnt to charcoal_ meant no more books, no more dorky doodles hidden under his bed, no more gazing at his collection of Hungarian spices he never even used - it was all that. It was that I knew that it'd make Marco sad, even though he'd try to play it cool. Say he could get it all back with time. But I knew he couldn't, because there was the paper with his handprint next to Korppi's pawprint, there was the Christmas card he got from some nice lady at the market place when he was nine, there was the little notebook with dried plants inside it he had collected when he was on his teens. There were so many things he could never replace, and it was tearing me apart. He could buy new boxers with funny prints, but they wouldn't be the same - there wouldn't be the memory of him blushing red when I saw the rose ones for the first time and lost it, nor would there be the blue daisy ones I bought for him afterwards as an apology. Sure, he'd own things again. But they wouldn't be the same.  
Marco lost all he had.  
Me? Nothing, really. Just a little memento of my father.

"Jean?"  
"Mmh, nothing", I replied, shaking my head. "You wanna step in first?"  
"No, you go", Marco laughed, picking his clothes from the floor. "I will follow you in once I have folded these."  
"Okka", I mumbled, stepping past him and closing the tab before carefully slipping in, after testing the warmth of the bath with my toe. It was hot, almost too much so, but I couldn't care less. Maybe the burn would wash away the soreness from my muscles and the sadness from my mind.  
I lifted my hand to my neck, just on a reflex. But of course, there was nothing there now. Not anymore.  
"You left your dogtags on the table by my bed", Marco said as he climbed into the tub, lowering into the water slowly, looking at the hand on my neck.  
"I know", I whispered, removing my hand slowly. "It's weird to be without them."  
"I thought so", Marco replied. "Give me your hand."  
"Alright?" I asked, extending my hand towards him. Marco took it with his left, turning it palm up before pressing his other hand against it, closed in a fist.  
"I thought so", he repeated. "They mean a lot to you."  
Then, he opened his hand, and let the metal slide against my skin.

I stared at my hand, dumbfounded. There they were - my tags, that were supposed to be in the house that was no more. I pulled my hand closer, lifting the silver in front of my eyes. Each and every scratch was still on its place, and as always the letter were deeply carved into the little plates.  
"But", I started, looking back to Marco. "But, I - how?"  
"I knew what those tags meant for you", Marco replied, smiling softly. "So when I saw them on the table, I just grabbed them and forgot about it. I just felt them on my pocket right now as I folded our clothes and remembered."  
"But- at what point?" I asked, staring at him with my mouth hanging open. "There was no time?"  
"Just before we dashed out", Marco replied, rubbing his neck. "I just... saw them and thought that I need to grab them for you."  
"Marco Bott", I said slowly. "In a death or life situation when you have two seconds to save your ass, you decide to pick up one object and it's _my necklace_?"  
"Uh, yes", Marco mumbled, looking down. "I knew you'd be sad so I just... thought.. yeah."  
"Marco, you absolute _pearl_."

Marco snapped his eyes back to me, confused look crossing his face.  
"What?" I asked, a little self conscious under his stare, pulling the tags closer to my chest. Marco shook his head slowly, before shrugging lightly with an apologetic smile on his face.  
"I just have never been called a pearl before", he replied silently, shuffling his legs and making the bubbly water wave between us. "I would never have imagine anyone would say that to me, unless they were going for that old, disgusting pick up line."  
"Eugh, I would never use that", I said, shaking my head. "I don't like it at all."  
"Naaw", Marco chuckled, tilting his head. "You won't ask if my mum was a clam since I'm such a pearl?"  
"No way", I replied sternly, shaking my head and grasping Marco's hand into my own, the tags pressing between our skins. "There's no way I'd ever say that."  
"Jean?"  
"Listen", I said, pulling his hand against my chest, against that scar I used to hate, but that he had almost made me like. "Your mother, your parents, your family - they're nowhere near _significant enough_ to be something like the clam. See, don't you realise? You were the clam all along."  
Marco stared at me, wide eyed as I reached for his right hand, too, keeping them both between us now, barely above the white bubbles.  
"See Marco", I started, gently pressing his hands together, settling them a little cupped. "That clam was you, and all your potential. Hidden under the tight, protective shells -" I pressed my hands around his. "There inside, that soft thing was you. All of us have potential like that, all of us have our little clams, but only the best, the rarest of us can built ourselves into pearls."  
"I'm not special", Marco breathed out, shaking his head. "If something, my shell's been broken and cracked by now."  
He tried to press his palms together. I didn't let him.  
"Marco", I started again. "Do you know how pearls are born?"  
Marco shook his head, keeping his eyes on our hands.  
"It's funny, really", I continued. "The pearl is born only if a grain of sand or something similar gets inside the clam and starts irritating it."  
Marco's eyes slowly rose back to mine, and this time there was curiosity painted under the scraped brows.  
"Only the clamp that fight that grain of sand can produce a pearl. Layer by layer, they suffocate the sand until it doesn't hurt anymore, until it's only a small memory of pain in the middle of them, in the middle of the shining brightness. So, it's true - pearls are such cruel things - something you can only get through pain. Your family, they were never your clam. They were that grain of sand that tried to ruin you."  
Such pretty, pretty brown eyes on mine, brows pressed almost too low. I wanted to smooth them back up, push the hurt out of him. Help him like he always helped me, ease his mind like he always eased mine. Give him something worth everything he lost, everything he could have saved if he hadn't protected me instead.  
"But you", I said, gently prying his hands open. The tag slipped down to the water from between our opened fingers with a splash of silver, but I didn't care, pressing my fingers onto Marco's skin and keeping his eyes on me and me alone. So that he would listen, so that he would understand.  
"You, Marco, you grew into a beautiful, beautiful pearl. And whereas what happened to you will always remain inside of you, it's becoming such a small part of you. And oh, look how you shine."  
I pressed a gentle kiss to his palm, gentle, gentle  
gentlest I could ever be.  
Hoping every little touch could heal the bruises of today, the bruises of past and all the bruises those hand would ever have to carry.

Still holding onto him, but gentler now, I slowly let my breath caress the soft skin of his palms as I listened to the little flutter on his breath and the sound of the dying bubbles and the water hitting the edges of the tub, just tiny, tiny sounds in that silence.  
In the silence shared with such a beautiful, beautiful boy.  
"So yeah", I said, slowly lowering his hand away and locking our eyes again. "You're an absolute pearl, Marco. And such a beautiful, beautiful pearl you are."  
"I", Marco started, pulling our still entwined hands against his chest now, squeezing it so hard it almost hurt. "If I'm a pearl, Jean, then it's thanks to you. It's all thanks to you."  
I shook my head, smiling.  
"I can't grow for you", I replied. "And neither can I heal for you. Your pearl, it's all work you did yourself. All due your own success and devotion. Of course, we, your friends, your loved ones, me as your boyfriend - we can help and guide you forward. We can kiss your scraped knees and tell you it's alright, you can try again. That we love you, and we are proud of you. But we can't build your pearl and we can't heal you. All we can do is to help you by pouring our love into you when you don't have enough for yourself. But your pearl, who you are today, it's all thanks to you. It's all you."

Marco's hands loosened around mine, and he let mine drop to slide his fingers to my cheeks as he pulled me into a soft kiss, just feather and another, and another, small light drops of love.  
And maybe his lips tasted like salt, and maybe my fingers touching his cheek were wetted by tears  
but the voice that whispered ' _thank you_ ' in between the feathers was laughing.

And maybe, just this once, I was able to save him instead.


	30. The rising sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Wouldn't it just be simplest to turn me?" Jean asked,voice serious and calm as he leant his chin onto his hands. "I mean, as a full vampire I would be completely useless for them, wouldn't I?"

There's something so wrong in sleeping here,  
in a stranger's bed, stranger's clothes,  
with pillows flatter than what I was used to.  
  
But Jean's arms were warm, _burning_ ,  
sparkling electricity down my spine.  
Just like they did yesterday, a week before  
how they'd spark tomorrow.  
  
And I knew that I was home.

***

It was loud.  
Too loud, too loud,  
      **too loud**  
  
Crunch.  
   
Sickening, gut wrenching snap that I recognised from the image of ages back;  
of my mother after a hunt, with dead rabbit in her hands  
   the red handed pliers that closed arounds it's legs as she broke them.  
  
but it was no dead rabbit this time  
it was alive  
it was screaming  
it was human  
                        it was Annie.  
  
Blood,  
     so much blood, _too much blood_ ,  
splatters down the stairs leading to the little wrought form of a girl  
screaming  
          screaming  
screaming  
  
too loud. too loud.  
  
Unknown man on Reiner's shoulder's and he was shouting,  
crushed between the wall and the toned muscles that knew how to kill,  
had killed  
would kill  
   but not now, not now  
there was no time  
  
                Run.  
        Run.  
Run.  
  
Jean's mouth was moving,  
words words words words but there was **no sound**  
    not a single sound as I pushed him into Bertolt's arms  
  
I had to go down, had to help, had to save her.  
Too many of them, there were too many of them,  
vampires,  
   with a cross of blood and dust drawn across of their faces.  
  
Hands on her legs,  
twisting, bending  
b r e a k ing  
  


_Should we form 'we got beaten up at home and the gays took us in club', freckles?_  
_Maybe._  
_Not if you keep laughing like that._  
_Sorry, sorry. It's just been years._  
_Years?_  
_Since I last laughed. For real, at least._  
_I understand._  
_You do?_  
_Yeah_ , she smiled, hugging her hand close by. _I do_.  


  
  
  
    **SNAP**  
**SNAP**  
               **SNAP**  
  
  
  
  
If her screams had been terrible,  
                                  was her silence the most haunting thing I had ever heard.  
  
  


***

  
  
"Wouldn't it just be simplest to turn me?" Jean asked,voice serious and calm as he leant his chin onto his hands. "I mean, as a full vampire I would be completely useless for them, wouldn't I?"  
"First of all, are you an idiot?" Ymir asked, raising her eyebrow judgingly from across the table. "You think your freaky dream control powers wouldn't be enough for Titans to still be interested in you even _if_ you were a vampire?"  
"Well, hella less interesting than a dead boy walking", Jean replied. "Wait, no. That'd be just a regular vampire. A dead boy living?"  
"Whatever you wanna label yourself with won't remove the 'test subject' label. And furthermore, even if you were turned into regular vampire, you'd still have grown up with a body modified with vampire blood and hey, I think that sounds like a _very interesting thing to dissect."_  
"Don't talk of me as a _thing._ "  
"Well you are nothing more them so you better get used to this treatment if you want to go through with any of these childish, idiotic plans you have been spewing out for last half a h-"  
"Ymir", Historia said, raising her hand a little. "That's enough. To be honest, there's something else I'm worried about when we talk about you becoming a vampire than this whole business with the Titans."  
"Care to delight us?" Jean suggested. "Since we all can't, you know, read minds."  
  
Historia sighed a little, and stopped Ymir with a wave of her hand before she even had time to retort one word. I was pretty sure she would have commented on how the line was funny from Jean's mouth, since he was one of the two people in the room with the ability to do anything mind related that wasn't exactly _normal_. Expect she probably would have worded it harsher. Or then she would just have told Jean to go suck a dick. It was just as likely from her mouth than anything else than I could imagine.  
  
"Alright", Historia then continued, running her eyes over the people gathered around the table. There was one new face compared to the day before in the form of Moblit, Hanji's somewhat timid lab assistant slash research partner they had invited over to take part on whatever it was that we were having. Strategy meeting? A battle of insults? A factitiously carefree breakfast between a bunch of half stangers of various stages of aliveness and living deadness that had a somewhat feeble sense of trust for each other due resent events that had ultimately brought them together?  
"I assume that everyone here is aware of what a vampire's blood does to another vampire?"  
"Moblit knows", Hanji replied. "If that's what you were worried about."  
"Good", Historia replied. "Then - don't you see the problem?"  
"The problem, Mrs?"  
"Mr Smith, I mean the actual trouble in Jean's plan."  
"What?" Jean asked, turning his gaze between the two. "Am I an idiot or why am I not getting it?"  
"Worry not, Jean, you truly are an idiot", Ymir replied, but her eyes were on me.  
  
Yeah.  
I understood perfectly.  
  
Even though I really wished I didn't.  
  
"Jean", I started carefully. "What she means to say is that she is unsure if you could be turned into a vampire at all."  
"What", Jean replied, confusion building across his features. "Wait, _what?_ "  
"You have already been exposed to vampire blood", I explained softly. Breathing around the weight on my chest, past the piece on my throat that I wish would just have disappeared. "While you were a fetus, Jean. If vampire's blood is supposed to turn a human, and it didn't turn your mother, who or what do you think took the affects into itself?"  
"Oh", Jean muttered, blinking softly. "You mean you think I am... partly a vampire. Like. Enough that the blood could kill me?"  
"Yeah", I replied, closing my eyes. "That's what I think this is about."  
"But you didn't die from my blood, Marco."  
"I never drank that much", I reminded, reopening my eyes and looking up to the little blonde. "But I guess Historia is also worried because it was her blood."  
  
Historia nodded.  
"Most of the people coming in touch with my blood die", she then said, softly. "And whereas my blood doesn't seem to have stronger effects on other vampires, I personally have a weak resistance for other's vampire's blood. A few drops makes my world spin, and I don't mean that in a good way."  
"So in other words, the power comes with a prize", Ymir shrugged, gazing at her wife a little worriedly. "And we don't know if Jean pays for that price, too. And if he does, how could he handle with that body? Historia is strong, she's awfully strong. But Jean is not. I'm afraid to say it, but he's even a little _fragile_ , if it can be put it that way."  
"Fragile cuts it", Jean admitted to my - and probably everyone's - surprise. "I mean, yeah. I guess so."  
  
I closed my eyes. Once more, it felt like the light wasn't supposed to be there with me. That I should have plunged into the dark, never to return.  
  
So what now?  
Was I supposed to bury the idea of Jean staying with me?  
Right after I had finally grown to accept the fact he could stay with me? That he could be turned. That he could be a vampire.  
  
Oh. Oh man.  
This sucks.  
  


***

  
  
Annie's hands had been bruised when we first met.  
She said that she had gone seen her family.  
Just this once, she had assured us. Reiner's eyes had been heavy, but I didn't understand it at first.  
It took a few other "just this times" before I understood the meaning behind those eyes.  
  
It wasn't that Annie didn't know she'd get beaten up. It wasn't that she would have wanted to get beaten up.  
It was just that she didn't really know how to give up on the hope of this time being different.  
_Maybe this time, father hasn't drank. Maybe this time, he won't look at me and start yelling as he realises that I look like my mother. Maybe this time, my father would love me. I couldn't stop hoping. Not really._  
So she told me, fingers drawing out outline of blue edged bruise. _But he never got better. He never stopped. He never loved me, and now he's dead. I couldn't even get my father love me. That, I guess, makes me failure as a daughter._  
  
It wasn't me who told her that she was wrong. It was Reiner.  
Because there was no way I could have told her that, when I would have thought the same of myself and I knew that she knew it.  
And I knew that she knew she was wrong.  
But it's also so easy to believe what you know to be wrong when it's things like this. It was wrong, logically, but somehow it still had to be true because there was no other way to explain it. Because you had to be at blame yourself.  
Because your family would never hurt you. Not really. Right?  
  
Yeah right.  
And bullshit.  
  
It's funny how the things you think on these moments never really make that much sense.  
Annie's smile. The rare, soft laughter. The happiness she would carry on her form when she spoke of her boyfriend.  
Alive.  
Alive.  
Alive.  
  
And now she was in my arms, and she wasn't moving.  
The titans stared at me as I lifted her from the ground. I think I had hurt some of them, but I wasn't sure anymore. At least none of them were trying to touch her now, but nothing was right.  
  
There was too much blood. Too much blood on the floor and too little in Annie herself.  
I passed her onto Reiner's hands because we all knew. We all knew if only one of us would make it out, it would be him.  
Hand on my shoulder, even colder than my own blood stained skin. Long, tanned oliver fingers with unspoken power hidden behind their calmness.  
 Bertolt.  
"Go", he said, giving my shoulder a calming squeeze. "I'll hold them back. So save your boy and go. Go!"  
  
He pushed me back as he flung forward, and once in my life I didn't hesitate to follow what he said.  
Once in my life I didn't hesitate,  
                                     not like I did on the bridge  
                                     when he told me all I'd have to fear was eternity if I let him help me.  
  
And he was right, really.  
Because eternity and all of its goodbyes was what I grew scared of as I looked from the still warm body to another in that cold, cold room.  
  


***

  
  
"Well", Jean then said. "Whether I can or cannot be turned into a vampire is something we don't know. Maybe not, maybe yes. I guess we are not taking the risk with it now anyway, because you need me as your bait, don't you?"  
"Jean-"  
"Good timing, mother", Jean cut her word, his eyes cold and commanding. "I really need you to tell us something."  
Maria looked a little baffled, but nodded slowly under her son's stare.  
"Whatever you need me to tell, sweetheart."  
"When titans captured you, why were you never filed as a missing person?"  
  
The room seemed to freeze.  
All but the Survey's eyes were now on Jean's mother.  
Curious, curious cases.  
And the eyes of Survey pressed down to the floor.  
Like they were ashamed  
and maybe a little afraid.  
  
  
"Well", Maria said slowly, as if she was counting her words as she spoke. Counting and counting, trying to calculate how to say it the best, how to make it so we would understand her. So that we wouldn't hate her, even, the fear in her voice seemed to say.  
"It's because my family knew where I was."  
"Excuse me?" Jean spit out. "What the hell does that mean?"  
"Quite naturally", Maria shrugged, her shoulders then falling down with the weight of her words, as she was giving up, broken calculations spread on her hands as she had to face the truth.  
But there was something her eyes, something in her stare, that told me she has wanted to tell this for a long, long time.  
That she knew what she was risking as she bared her truth,  
but that she was ready to stand there and take the damage.  
  
  
As long as she just didn't need to lie anymore.  
  
"It means that both me and your father used to belong to the titans."  
  


***

  
Jean had been scared.  
Of course he had been.  
But for some reason, he didn't have trouble following me as we pushed our way through the titans.  
  
Up the stairs, back to my room.  
  
Jean's hand in mine was so warm, so so warm  
warmer than Annie's body has been just before  
and I knew that I couldn't let this hand get cooler,  
couldn't let it be covered in hot hot blood  
no  
anything but that.  
  
So I couldn't let anyone surprise me now, not this time.  
So I held his hand thigh as I pushed down the man with buttery hair  
wishing,  
             hoping  
                          that the hand on mine would never fail,  
                          that it'd never grow weak under my skin  
                          that it'd never let go because it was too weak to hold on.  
  
And as I pulled him forward and pushed him away to protect him,  
towards the windows, towards the balcony and the rain of ripped pages of the books that I used to love  
                                                                                                                                       that I still loved  
                                                                                                                                       that I could never stop loving  
all I could hope for was someone to catch him if I was to fall.  
  
  
  
But I didn't  
  
                     and as the last man fell to the ground I saw the little glitter of metal and caught it in my hands  
slipped it to my pocket before wrapping my hands around his waist and running  
jumping  
  
wishing  
  
                   hoping  
  
That the little piece of history would save him if I were doomed to fail.  
  


***

  
"Out."  
"Jean-"  
"Get out", Jean said, his finger pointed firmly on the door. "Get out of my sight."  
"Jean", I said, laying my hand carefully atop his. "Jean, please calm down."  
" _Please-_ fuck that!" Jean roared, slapping my hand away. "The fuck I'm going to be calm when my mother _knowingly_ ruined her own son's -"  
"STOP!" Maria shouted, slamming her hand down to the table. "I'd never, ever, knowingly ruin my child's health!"  
"WELL HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE THIS?!" Jean exclaimed, throwing his hands up. "Years, years and years of lies! You never tell me the truth! And now I find out you were with the people who supposedly hurt you, how am I supposed to believe you _didn't mean it?_ "  
"I wouldn't believe me either if I didn't listen till the end!" Maria snapped. "Would you even listen to me? I will tell you the biggest regret of my life, and then, if you still want it, I will walk out of that door. I will. But you _have to listen_ to me first."  
"I'm tired of listening to you", Jean informed, ice ice ice on his words. Hurt dressed up in anger, distrust painted across his hurt heart.  
"I'm tired of believing you time after time just to unwrap more lies. Is there anything real to you, mother? Have you ever told me _anything_ that's real? Are you even my real mo- "  
  
I silenced him with my hand to his mouth, meeting his glare with a shook of my head because I knew.  
Knew well how he'd regret those words if he ever let them slip past his lips.  
"Jean", I said, carefully holding my hand against the soft lips which I knew capable of kissing with love. Which I knew well enough to know they would rather speak of love than anger.  
Which I knew to be hurt now,  
so scared and hurt that he would rather run away than face his fear.  
Hide alone and scream on his own.  
But he wasn't on his own right now, and it was me who had to remind him of it.  
"Jean, darling. You have to understand that are too angry right now. I won't tell you to calm down because your anger is valid, it is - after all, this all seems like bad, bad lies right now. But you need to take a breath and listen to your mother right now, even with all of your anger. You have to remember that you cannot let your anger become a danger for the rest of us, not now. You have to remember that this is not only about you, but also about me and everyone else in this room. Even your friends, even the people who were never connected to this - this is about everyone's safety. So for now, Jean, you have to listen to her."  
Jean pushed my hand away again, but this time, he was gentler.  
"Alright", he said. "I will listen to her."  
His hand pulled my other hand into his, hidden from the stares behind our chairs. Warm fingers slipped between the cold ones, warm cold warm, a game of touches we already knew so well.  
"So tell me", Jean said, rising his burning eyes to his mother. Suppressed flames of anger stepping aside to let the calm in. "Tell me what happened between you, dad and the Titans."  
  


***

  
I didn't expect Historia to catch us, but she did.  
Her little body tumbling down with our weight, but keeping us safe as we hit the ground.  
Little sounds of hurt filling the air.  
  
Her hand was cold as she took mine, and I could see Ymir's hand was all wrong but she didn't seem to notice it as she scooped Jean up on her turn.  
  
And this time, I was the one being pulled forward as we stumbled forward,  
frantic steps echoing from stony walls on little cobblestone streets.  
  
Forward, forward  
 through the little stairs I had never even known to hide behind the falling vines  
and she pulled me  
    and she pulled me  
  
and once she finally pushed me through a window of a baby blue house I knew that I would survive to see the rising sun.  
  


***

  
  
"Originally", Maria started. "The Titans weren't what you would call bad people. They were just a group of people with a hope for better tomorrow. It could even be said that originally the Titans were what the Survey is these days - an organisation searching out ways to unite the world of humans and vampires. Where, and why, their goals started getting twisted, that I cannot say. All I can say is that when me, your father, and almost every Survey member you see here joined in, we believed we were fighting for the justice."  
Hanji nodded their head as they met my gaze, verifying Mrs Kirstein's words to be true. Erwin on the other hand just  offered me a slight shrug, with a sad smile taking over his features as I looked towards him hoping for explanation.  
"Actually, I was the one to invite them in", Erwin said, exchanging gazes with Jean's mother, leaving me without the explanation that I had hoped from him. "Through Hanji Daveau."'  
"That's true", Hanji informed. "When Erwin turned me, he told me about the Titans. It sounded like an opportunity to kill for, and once my best childhood friend returned to the town with his newlywed bride.... what can I say. I knew he would realise I wasn't me anymore, seeing that I suddenly wasn't actively dying because of my tumor. So I told Jean's father about vampires, about all the dark things in this world, and I told him about the Titans, and of the goals and dreams that we had for the world. Those days, Titans still treated their human members with respect, and as a human you felt and were safe with them. We talked more, and we talked to Maria, too."  
"And then we joined", Maria continued. "We joined the Titans in the hopes of uniting our worlds, and with the dream of eternal life. Me and Guillaume were young and foolish - oh, we were. We wanted to be young, strong and beautiful until time would leave us - if it would leave us. What we thought vampirism to be was the _ultimate cure_ \- the way it had cured the incurable disease of Guillaume's best friend seemed like enough proof for us. We thought we could cure the world with it - get rid of polio, cancer, AIDS - you name it. We thought that with the titans and Mx Daveau's research we could have it all. That we could save the world."  
"Funnily enough my research could never even save my best friend", Hanji said, their broken voice making Jean twitch next to me. "I couldn't  finish it in time. I don't know if I ever can."  
"Guillaume didn't want to live forever, Hanji", Maria soothed the researcher. "You know that full well."  
"My father could have lived?" Jean asked quietly. "This whole time, he knew that he could have lived?"  
  
Maria closed her eyes, biting back what seemed to be tears.  
"Yes", she then said. "Even though this is getting off the track, I guess I can tell you."  
"Go on", Historia urged. "I think it's okay to use some time talking about this."  
Maria nodded, slowly focusing her attention on Jean.  
"Your father, he never really got over what happened with the Titans. We decided to bring you up into a world of no vampires, of no danger. When he found out about your heart, he was devastated. He blamed himself for ever talking me into joining the Titans. No matter how I told him that I joined thinking that it was a good idea, too, he couldn't stop blaming himself. But it was more than that - when he found out about his cancer, he told me this; 'Maria - there are a lot of vampires in this world. But I cannot become one. I used to dream of eternity and now I'm scared to death when I consider it. I look at our son and I know that he could choose to die a human even if I were to be turned and the reality was exposed to him. I'm scared he would hate me, and that he would hate you Maria. I'm scared he would hate us because we ruined his life. And even if he didn't, I'm scared - I can see it over and over in my head, him saying 'I'm sorry dad, but I won't turn'. Him telling me that the life we gave him is not worth living for ever. I'm scared of looking at him grow older and older, and I'm scared of seeing him die, Maria. No parent should have to bury their child. No one should. And Maria, even if Jean turned, I don't think I could do it. The older I get, the more people wait for me. The more people there are on the other side that I want to, that I need to see again. And I want to see them. Maybe there even isn't afterlife, but I don't want to bet on it. I couldn't stand living while thinking that if I had just died properly I could have met them again. I miss my sister, Maria, I miss her terribly so. I miss everyone who has left me behind, and I know. If I were to be a vampire there would just be more people to miss. I am not strong enough to stand that. I'm not strong enough to live moving from place to place, afraid of goodbyes and my own memories. I'm not strong enough to stay and see my son to die. I'm not strong enough for any of that, Maria. So if I'm to die now, then good. Then I will die now. I will miss you, but maybe I will see you again. After death, somewhere far away and beautiful. Somewhere where we can be happy again, darling. Somewhere where there are no Titans and no lies. Somewhere where you will never have to cry. So no, I won't become a vampire. I will never become one. I wan't to die a human.' Well, he said a lot more than that. But I don't really know what the rest was, because when I try to remember these are the words that ring in my head over and over again."  
Jean's fingers slowly curled tighter around mine as he listened to his mother.  
"What happened with the Titans?" he asked. "How did you end pregnant with me and vampire blood in your veins?"  
  
Maria cleared her throat, thinking, before she started talking once more.  
"It was around three years after we had joined the Titans that things started going really wrong", she said, looking at Erwin who nodded, as if they were checking details with each other. "That's when some of the human members started disappearing. We were told it was someone from the outside - someone who wanted to break us down. I should have realised something was wrong when they suddenly started treating me so carefully once they found out that I was pregnant. But it was only a few weeks later that one of the Titans' leaders came behind our home door, asking me to come for a walk with him while Guillaume was away working on a mission. This man, he took me to a room with other pregnant women and told me that I couldn't leave. The next day, they came round with the shots - said they were to prevent anything for damaging us during the pregnancy. But some of the women screamed, and they didn't even live to the next hour.  Not all died immediately - it seemed that the earlier the stage your pregnancy was, the longer you survived. But in the end, when I was on my sixth month and the council finally came to rescue us, had every single woman around me already died."  
Maria shuttered, trying to calm herself. Closing her hands into tight enough fists for me to smell the blood her fingernails dug up before she could continue.  
"They took me to the hospital. Mrs Reiss asked me all these questions, and she tried to erase my memory. Well, she did erase it. But little did she know that Mx Daveau was there waiting, and once she had left the room they showed me their teeth, shaking my newly buried memories quickly back to the surface. The only problem is that not all of them ever returned. So I could never tell anyone who took me to the room, past it having been someone of high position and a man. And I cannot remember the faces or names of the women who died in that room. All I know is that the one  who died just before help arrived had red hair and a beautiful voice, and that she'd sing lullabies to her unborn child each and every day, stroking her stomach with love in her eyes. She never cried. She kept us, and in the end, me, strong as the others died. Told us that we must eat and stay strong so we could take care of our children once they were born. She told me she had two children at home waiting for her to come back. I wish I could remember her name so I could have told them that their mother died a hero."  
Maria gulped, rising her hand above her lips for a while, as if she was feeling sick. Maybe she was - I wouldn't have been surprised if she did. I could feel the weight on my own throat getting heavier as she spoke.  
  
"In the end", she then said. "I was held captive for total of four months. When I saw Guillaume again, he told me we had to run. And run we did - we ran to Trost, hidden in trains, ships, aeroplanes - playing Europe wide hide and seek to get rid of anyone following us before finally hit the road in the back of a little van that took us to Trost. Here, we hid ourselves to the house of my mother until we figured out lives for ourselves and slowly moved ourselves officially into Trost. Starting with Erwin and ending with Hanji, we all found ourselves a little place in this city where we seemed to belong and where we hoped we wouldn't be found. It seemed like a dream - finally, we could live free again, out of the grasp of the Titan's claws, out of the watching eye of the council. Locked away in the little harbour city I had grown up in."  
"Naturally", Hanji commented, "It wasn't that simple. Erwin, me and Guillaume had to learn the language and sneak our ways into the legal system to have lives for ourselves. It was here that me and Erwin met Levi, and it helped a lot - suddenly, we had someone with the language to help us forward. We didn't guess we would become what we are now, but in the end we founded our little family right here."  
Levi nodded, and Hanji smiled at him. Then, they looked at Maria.  
"And you and Guillaume both changed your names."  
"Jean", Maria said, raising her hand to silence her son before he could even speak. "You said that your whole life seemed like a lie. It wasn't. It was just that we had to make it a new one to protect ourselves. It's true I was never born Anne-Maria - it was the name of my stillborn sister, but we changed it up in the legal papers. So my sister became Nanaba Aurora Nylund, and I became Anne-Maria Nylund - or well, Anne-Maria Kirstein, through marriage. It was easier than one would have thought, what with my mother having kept me home schooled and a little hidden from the world. It wasn't like I had ever had much friends that would have realised that this Anne-Maria they had never met could actually be the Nanaba they already knew. Guillaume, he chose the name based on its sound. He was known as Mike before - and yes, Mark is his real brother and Kirstein is their real surname - we just simplified it from Kirschtein to Kirstein.  We pulled Mark into this because we needed his help with hiding at the time, but he only followed us into Trost a good six years later to prevent suspicion. He doesn't even know about the vampires - to this day, he thinks that we got ourselves messed up with some gang in France... what else... oh. You father was born in France, and he lived under the surname 'Zacharius' until he was around 15. That's when his mother remarried and moved to live with a German man who was Mark's father - that's where their surname was changed to Kirschtein. So Mark and Guillaume share mother, but have different fathers."  
"They look pretty similar", Jean replied, his voice a little unsure. "At least I think so."  
"It's true", Maria nodded. "They both took after their mother."  
"Okay", Jean said. "Okay. But... Nanaba?"  
"I know, right", Maria smirked. "That name doesn't really fit me, does it?"  
"I think it does", Jean said, his voice still painted with confusion but somewhat oddly sure as it carried on. "And so did short hair, like you had when you married father."  
"Well, I do thank you."  
"So Nanaba and Mike? That's what you were called when you met?"  
"Yes, certainly so."  
"That's crazy", Jean laughed, hiding his face behind his free hand. "Just a little so."  
"I'm sorry I put you through this, Jean."  
"Well", Jean muttered. "I'm still certainly angry at you, but you can stay in the room."  
"I do thank you for that."  
"But I am not calling you Nanaba."  
"I would rather hope that you don't."  
"Good."  
The son and the mother looked at each other before bursting into laugher.  
"It's a terrible name! Nanaba Nylund, that just sucks!"  
"I know right!" Maria laughed. "Anne-Maria fits me much better."  
"It does!"  
  
The rest of the table exchanged a somewhat confused look as they looked from the laughing mother to the laughing son, two people guffawing at a joke only they seemed to understand.  
But it was better than I thought it would be, I guess. A lot better than the two fighting like they had for all this time before.  
  
"Okay", Jean finally managed, calming his giggles down. "Okay, okay. This was a little surprising."  
"Just a little?" Maria asked, wiping laughter brought tears from her eyes. "I wished it'd be really surprising."  
"Well, okay, maybe it was", Jean smirked. "But in all seriousness - what are we going to do now?"  
He turned his gaze to Erwin, who nodded calmly at him.  
"Alright, then", Erwin said. "I want you to all to listen to my plan on taking down the Titans and returning peace to the world of vampires."  
  
I looked at Jean as he nodded, and I knew that he had honed his heart.  
So I looked at Erwin, too, and nodded under his question stare.  
  
We would fight.  
We would fight and do our dammed best to win the freedom we so yearned for.  
  
And Jean's hand never faltered in mine,  
not even when he realised how dangerous the plan would be for him.  
  
He just nodded,  
and somehow,  
I guess it made me realise how much I really loved him all over again.  



	31. Cross my heart, hope to die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well”, I then said, letting my eyes meet his once more before my smile turned into what I hoped to be a cocky grin. “As I am being so cooperative, I think I should tell you that she’s standing right behind you with a pretty damn sharp looking machete in her hands.”

Present day,  
21st of December,   
Southern Trost; Trost Hospital

In the end, life had ultimately brought me to what I knew to be my deathbed.

White hospital sheets, beeping machines (none plucked onto me anymore tho, expect the little nasal cannula I was wearing, but nasal cannulas don't exactly _beep_ you know), too-clean-to-be-homey rooms and all the bustle of nurses and visitors combined with piling too-big-to-be-casual flower bouquets on my bedside table couldn't really signal anything else anymore.

"The ladies must be so disappointed over at Mark's", Marco smiled, sitting on the uncomfortable plastic chair by my bed. "That you aren't at work anymore, you know."  
"Oh, they are", I smirked back at him, pointing at the table by his side. "I even got some flowers from regulars."  
"'Regulars', you say? Should I be worried for my place in your heart, dear Jeanbo?"   
"You know, if you keep me calling that I'll have to admit that I'm starting to favour Miss Sylvia, 72 years old beauty from Southeastern Trost, over you."  
"Oh no", Marco gasped. "How could I ever compete with her fragile kind of petite beauty and wiseness brought by her age! I must find a way to redeem myself to you to keep my title as your lover.... is there anything that I could do for you, oh the light of my days?"  
"You could wear red lipstick now and then", I prompted, winking, then coughing. Really funny how your body started collecting water in weird places if your heart slowly gave up, really funny honestly. Marco waited patiently for my cough to stop and let me continue, his fingers dancing to rest a little closer to the nurse alarm as he did so.  
"Well", I said, ignoring his movement. "Red would really bring out the shade of your skin and the beauty of your eyes, you know."  
"I'd immediately comply to this request if I just had lipstick with me, but I don't", Marco pouted. "Is there anything else I could do for you?"  
"No, not really", I replied, shaking my head. "But I guess I can help you to redden your lips otherwise."   
"Oh?" Marco queried, leaning closer to me over the railing of my bed. "And how would you do that?"  
"Oh come one", I snickered, slapping his arm. "Kiss me."

 He did, long and proper and gentle with his fingers playing with the line of my cheekbone.  
"I'm so glad I met you", he said as he pulled back, then burying his face to my shoulder. "So glad Jean, so so glad."  
"I am glad I met you, too", I smiled, threading my fingers through his messy, black hair. It was longer than it had been when we met, long enough for me to sweep the top of it behind his ear. It was mesmerizing, really, pushing those black strands around and between my fingers - coal against whitened skin and the silver of the ring on my finger, soft strands like silk under my touch.   
"You know", Marco said, little purr on his voice as he enjoyed the feeling. "You were the one who made me believe in love."   
"Oh?" I asked, not stopping the little exploration through his hair. "Why so?"   
"Well, you know my family. But even outside that, I never really had anyone during those times. I never really understood what falling in love meant before I saw you. Of course, it started off as a stupid little crush on a guy I didn't even know - I just really, really liked to watch you paint, you know? I was never interested in anyone I kissed, and I never realised how much it could hurt to get kissed by someone you liked while thinking they don't like you. You were just a boy painting green clouds in golden sunsets but here we are now, branded with silver rings of love. You taught me how falling in love feels, and you taught me how it feels wanting to protect something with your whole being. You taught me how it feels to know you are making someone feel good-"   
"I am not sure if my hospital bed is the best place for such naughty talk, dear."   
"Shut up Jean, I'm trying to be romantic here. But yes, you also taught me that sex is great. Thanks for that, by the way."   
"When you were younger, who did you kiss Marco?" I asked, carefully. "I wasn't your first kiss and I know that and don't mind, naturally, and it might be really late to ask this now but... I've wondered sometimes."   
"Uh", Marco mumbled to my shirt. "Mostly guys who liked me or liked how I looked. Usually guys around my age - my first kiss was a classmate from 7th grade - but a few times someone a bit older at a club."   
"Hard to imagine you at clubs."   
"Oh, I get wild", Marco replied darkly. "I stopped going to clubs after I died because I'm not about that life, but back then it felt great to know that at least I was attractive to someone even thought no one loved me. So I let those dirty man kiss me and touch me and buy me drinks, but I never had sex with them. That's where I drew the line."  
"Well", I hummed. "I mean, I wouldn't have mind if you had had sex with someone before, but I am glad your first time wasn't some old dirty, drunk man."  
Marco snorted.   
"Don't snort at me", I complained. "You must be glad you got to have your first time with a dying boy with zero sex appeal instead."   
"I never had sex with someone like that," Marco muttered. "Have only had it with a sexy god with pale skin who just happens to be dying."  
"It might be pretty late to say this too after all these years, but you really do like my skin for some reason, don't you?"  
"It's awfully pretty", Marco replied, finally straightening himself and looking back at me. "It's so clear and it makes your blush stand out really well, it's adorable."   
"But you're paler than I am", I replied. "At least in the summer, and seeing that you said you were turned in the end of summer I guess that is the darkest your skin even would get."   
"Pretty much", Marco agreed. "But I'm covered in freckles, whereas you aren't. That's the difference."  
"I love your freckles, you know that?"  
"Oh, I do, and I love them, too. I can play dot to dot on my skin, I think that's the most useful thing ever - no need to bring board games for boring trips when I can just pass time connecting freckles."  
"I have to agree that that kinda is cool."

Marco hummed, leaning his head against my shoulder once more.  
"Tell me something about yourself, Jean", he said. "Something that I don't yet know."  
"Something that you don't know? Is there really anything significant that you don’t know left?"   
"For me, everything about you is significant”, he replied softly. "I want to know everything about you. But mostly, what you think that defines you, the secrets you hide from everyone, the little demons of your world. Your fears, your guilty little pleasures. The things that keep you awake at night. I want to know you, more of you, want to know all I could ever know of you but there's only so little time left now. So I want to know what you think I should know to really know you."  
"You're making this sound like a goodbye."  
"Well, isn't it?"  
"Not really."  
Marco scowled at me the best he could without moving.  
"Well, not definitely", I said, smiling a little.

 Then, taking a deep breath, I admitted it for the first time ever:  
"I'm actually kind of afraid of dying."

 And I cried.

 

***

4 years before,  
14th of June,   
Somewhere in Trost; probably

  
“So, how does it feel to be the only human made living dead in the world?”   
"No way", I said calmly. "There's no way I would be something cool like that."   
The man sitting opposite of me peered at me over his glasses quietly, way too quietly to my liking. But I had to keep my cool.   
"Jean", he then said, slowly turning a next page of his notebook open. "Right?"  
"In the flesh."  
"What do you know of vampires?"  
"Vampires, sir?"  
"Yes", he replied, taking a pen into his hand and clicking it open. "Vampires. Don't try playing stupid on us - we know you are acquainted with at least one, and based on the amount of his scent stuck on you the two of you were rather close."  
"What are you implying?"   
"Frankly, I'm not implying anything much", the man replied, not bothering to lift his face from his papers. "I just can smell bodily fluids that aren't yours on you. Bodily fluids that smell awfully a lot like a vampire's - furthermore, our dearest researcher found a pair of scars that look a lot like vampire bites. As someone with 190 years experience on the field of vampire bites, I daresay it’s unlikely that she’d make mistakes when it comes to this matter. So unless you have a very convincing proof that you have been given shots with double needles, I'm going to assume that you have been bitten by a vampire at least once in your life. Do you admit at least that much?"  
"Yes", I replied quietly. "I have been bitten by a vampire."  
"He is your lover, isn't he?"   
"Have you ever heard of how leading questions are considered a bad -"  
Someone, pretty surely the same girl who had tied me up to the chair beforehand smacked my back, and I don't mean a gently smack. More like the kind of one that leaves you worried you broke a bone or few.

"Careful there, Jenny. He seems a little fragile, we can't have him breaking on us."   
"I apologize, sir."   
"It’s okay, Jenny. But Jean, if he's not your lover, what is he to you, then?"   
"Someone who saved me", I wheezed out after a while. "Twice."   
"So he's not your lover?"   
"No."   
"But you have sex with him."   
I laughed hoarsely.  
"Frustration, you know", I replied, smirking at the man. "It's not that  easy to get laid when you are dying. Like I am. Nobody wants to be widowed in their twenties. There's no way we could ever be lovers- do I still need to mention that we are a human and a vampire? - so fuck buddies worked out for us. I keep his secret to pay my debt to him and to seal the deal we bang now and then. Of course I don't know if your 1100s brain can figure out concepts like 'fuck buddy', but whatever."  
"Don't underestimate me", the man replied flatly. "Even though I have only been alive since late 1800s."  
“I don’t think that’s much better”, I snickered. “You’re still old as fuck.”   
“You should consider yourself lucky”, the man smiled, and it reeked of expired sweets. “Being ‘old as fuck’, as you put it, has grown my bullshit tolerance higher than the average. But it’s not endless, and when it’s full, I snap. When that happens...  well, it might just be that you find your neck snapping, too.”   
“Oh”, I replied. “So you are telling me to talk or die?”   
“Exactly”, the man replied. “I’m glad that you understand the situation you are in.”   
“I do. So fire at me. What do you really wanna know, Mr Old-As-Fuck? Because it sure as hell seems like you aren’t asking the important questions yet.”  
Ignoring the nickname, the man smiled softly, yet dangerously at me as he crossed his hands on his lap.  
“Well then, Jean”, he said, and the way he pronounced my name made me want to tear my ears off. Maybe it was good that the ropes prevented me from doing that. “Since you are being so cooperative, I want you tell us what you know about a vampire named Historia Reiss?”

 I lowered my head, smiling a little.  
“Well”, I then said, letting my eyes meet his once more before my smile turned into what I hoped to be a cocky grin. “As I am being so cooperative, I think I should tell you that she’s standing right behind you with a pretty damn sharp looking machete in her hands.”

 

***

4 years before,  
13rd of June,   
Trost Center; Ackerman & Co  
  


I made sure I had turned my caller ID off before I typed in the first number,  
and this time, I typed in it as whole,  
nil four nil seven two one nine nine nil eight,  
ten little digits  
ten little steps towards what I feared so.

"Niva's photography services, Louise speaking."  
"Louise", I breathed in. "Louise, hi."  
"Marco?"   
What a surprised voice.   
Well, it had been a few weeks shy of a year, after all.  
"Yeah", I smiled sadly at the worn down wall in front of me. "It's me. Sorry I didn't call earlier."  
"You don't have to say sorry", Louise replied, her voice confused through the phone. "I told you to call _if_ you wanted to."   
"I already tried to call months ago, to be honest", I chuckled. "But I didn't know what I would say to you. So I always shied off."   
"I wouldn't know what to tell myself if I was in your shoes, either.”   
"Oh no, don't start on how you don't deserve to be called my sister again", I cut in. "I really don't want to hear that right now."   
"Alright", she replied, laughing a little to the receiver. "Why are you calling me, Marco? I mean, why right now - agh, I don't know how to word this correctly. What I want to ask is what changed... what made you change your mind about calling me? What gave you the push to finally do it?"   
"It's okay", I breathed in. "It's okay, I understand. But the answer to your question... I don't know if you want to know, honestly."   
" _Marco?_ " she asked, her tone definitely worried now. "Marco what's wrong? Tell me."   
"Just.... stay out of Trost for a while", I replied awkwardly, tapping my fingers against the wall next to me. "Make it as long as you can, but at least a month. Don't come here for awhile. I... I am begging you Louise, please don't come here."   
"Marco, you have to tell me what's happening - are you okay? Is Trost unsafe right now?"   
"I can't", I replied. "I can't tell you what's wrong, or what's happening, I can't. Please believe me when I say that I can't. To answer your earlier question, I'm calling now because I don't know if I can call you tomorrow. Or anytime after it. Do you understand what I mean?"   
"If you dare to get yourself killed", Louise replied slowly, clearly understanding the significance of the words. "I will make my damnest sure to dig my way down to hell to drag you back up for a good beating."   
"I'm mostly bothered by how you are so sure I'm ending up in hell."   
"Oh no, if there's heaven you're probably going there. It's just that I will certainly go to hell for all this, so you better patiently wait there sipping tea with Satan or something until I come to get you."   
"Now you sound so sure that I’m going to die that I feel a little hurt."   
"Well, I know _you_ ", Louise replied sharply. "You didn't want to call me. I could tell when I gave you my card - you don’t want me in your life. But you are too kind Marco, so now that you, for reasons that you won't let me know, are afraid for your own safety.... sue me, afraid for your own life, you felt the need to warn me. That's why you are calling me. Because something is wrong in Trost and you know that I have connections there, and some little part of you still treats me as someone you ought to protect so you are calling me, making sure that I stay out the city where I could get hurt. You wouldn't do that if you weren't really scared. You are calling me, to speak to me for the first time in a year, and that's after we met for the first time in five years, and you are telling me to stay safe while you tell me this might be the last time you’ll ever speak to me. I know that I have no right to say this, but brother, _you hardcore suck at goodbyes_."  
"I know", I breathed in. "I know. I really do."  
"It was nice knowing you, Marco", Louise then said, surprising me. "See, it wasn't that hard? I am not going to pretend I won't cry once this call is over and fret my head off over whatever the hell it is that's risking your life right now. I feel like I should call the police, but I also know you would have called them if you could. So I will suck it up and listen to you. This time, I will. But if I have to read that you have died somewhere, or get the call, I am still personally going to make sure to beat your death self even more dead. _Understood?_ "   
"Quite clearly", I laughed. "Thank you. I'd much appreciate all of that."   
"Will you call me again if you survive?"  
"I will", I sighed, drumming my fingers against the wood of the wall a little softer than before. "I will, just this once."  
"Thank you", Louise replied. "Sincerely, thank you for that."   
"If I don't call in four days, presume that I'm dead", I informed her quietly, yet sternly. "But don't come looking for my corpse until you get the confirmation from someone like the police. I really don't want to get you mixed into this, and there are people who should never find out about this call or it'd danger you, too. You understand?"   
"I do", Louise replied. "Well. Now that this is somewhat a possible last goodbye, I will tell you something I have only told to one other person in the whole world."   
"I’m listening."   
"A little after we last met, I found someone that I like. This led to things, and I'm currently pregnant and yes, Marco, I am very much keeping the baby."

"Oh", I stammered. "Oh, wow. Um, congratulations?"  
"Thank you", she laughed. "So if you survive and all, you'll be an uncle in around half a year's time. How does that feel?"   
"Really weird", I admitted. "I don't know what to say."   
"But I do", Louise replied, her voice stern yet again. "I know I wasn't the best sister out there. But I promise you, and furthermore I promise myself, that I will be all that better of a mother. No running away this time. I will never be afraid to tell this child that I love it."   
"That's great, I-"   
"And Marco", she cut in. "I love you. I always have - you are my dear brother, after all. I am sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough. I cut you out of my life but I could never forget about you. I just want you to know that you are still dear to me, and that I expect nothing, absolutely nothing from you in return."   
"I have to go", I replied, slowly closing my eyes. "I'm sorry. I have to go. But you were an incredible sister, Louise, and I could never blame you for the mistakes of our parents - you were a child, too, and child should never be blamed for what adults do. But Louise, I am not the same boy you used to know, and I can never go back to being that Marco again. Yet, you were my sister, and I am thankful for that. I love you, too, and please, please, do stay safe."

Cowardly, I closed the call before she time to answer anything.

Slid down the wall and hugged my knees to my chest.  
"Fuck", I said silently. "Fuck. Fuck. _Fuck_."  
I never imagined it'd feel that bad, not really.  
But then again, things rarely seemed to go as I imagined they would.  
I let out a stuttering breath, pinched my cheeks and stood back up. There would be another place and time for crying over long lost sisters and all that had been ruined between me and her, and all that could have been mended if I wasn't already dead. I knew I couldn't get into her life the way I was, but I at least wanted a proper goodbye. The call hadn't felt like one.  
"Fuck", I muttered once more, shaking my head. I knew I didn't have the time for this, not now. Not tonight. I would have all the time in the world to be broken about it if I would survive the next 50 hours. But before that, I would have to face Jean once more.

This time, I would have to say goodbye knowing the changes of us never meeting where even higher than with me and Louise. That for a reunion, we would need two miracles instead of just one.  
Needless to say I was scared, and I wanted to run away, but I couldn't. Of course I couldn't. Because Jean was already risking his all, and I needed to be there for him to make sure it wasn't in vain. So I slowly walked back up the narrow stairs to the room we had shared for the night on Levi's bakery's attic, climbing up the uneven steps and knocking on the door before cracking it open and slipping past it.

 Jean looked wonderstruck as I stepped in, sitting on the bed with his crossed legs and hands leaned on his knees, glancing up to me as I entered.  
“You know”, he said, out of nowhere and not bothering with a greeting. "I really miss Northern lights."  
"Huh?" was all I could offer before he continued, not missing a beat to give me a chance to comment - he didn't want me to say anything, I realised, as he spoke on. He just needed to say it out loud, I guessed. Maybe spoken word felt sturdier than mere thoughts, making it easier to accept what was being said as reality.

“But the thing is, Marco, that I really don’t like pictures of them, Northern lights, you know? It’s frustrating. I might just die out there tonight, and I really want to see Northern Lights right fucking now. But a picture won’t do - I need the air to bite my cheeks with cold, I need the twinkle of the stars, and the most of all I need the dance of the auroras. Pictures of them might look impressive, but they don’t dance. I want the dance, I want to stare at the dance that’s not like that of fire nor fireworks - I want that unpredictable wave of lights. I want to devour them and stare at them and feel like I’m staring through time and history, standing there with my ancestors who thought the flicker was snow that foxes threw to the air as they played and I want to lose myself there. Freeze, but not to realise it before I’m shivering because everything is so damn beautiful that I’m completely enchanted by it, lost of time and place. Lost of worries, lost of the reality of being _me_. So I really want to see Northern Lights right now, Marco. I really do. But I can’t, so I can’t forget who I am and where I am. I can’t stop shaking because I know this could go wrong and that I could lose you, and I guess it’s funny to say because I’d be the one to die if anyone but dying would mean losing _you_. And I don’t want to. I don’t know if I can live with you as we wanted but even so I want to spend the last goddamn beat of my heart by your side. And this way, if I die tonight, I won’t.”   
Jean took a deep breath, his hands balling into fists.   
“And even more than Northern Lights, I’d miss you, Marco. I’d miss you terribly so. And I hate nothing more than sad goodbyes, so I don’t want to say goodbye to you. I know that it’s a selfish request but Marco - let's not say goodbye tonight."  
He let out a fluttering breath before catching my gaze with his, caramel melting into chocolate.  
"So Marco", he smiled. "See you tomorrow, then?”   
“But of course”, I nodded, crossing the length of the room and taking his face between my hands before continuing. "See you tomorrow, Jean.”   
  
And never had there even been a kiss that tasted so much of goodbye as the one we shared.   
Salt sprinkled on sugar lips,   
little drops of fear ignored because bringing them up would have broken the promise.

It wasn’t a goodbye.   
It truly wasn't.  
It was a promise to meet again.

And with that promise, Jean was out of the door,  
out of sight,   
possibly out of my life.

But he promised.  
And I held the taste of that promise on my lips as I closed my eyes.

To the hell or not,  
he was mine.   
And if he wanted to meet again,   
then he'd meet me again.  
Was it in the hell or not,  
we'd meet again.  
Somehow,   
                 somewhere,   
                                     we certainly would.

 

***

4 years before,  
14th of June,   
Outskirts of Trost

   
Erwin’s plan had been awfully simple, yet effective, consisting of four main point:  
1\. Let the titans catch Jean without them realising that he wanted to be caught.   
2\. Follow the titans to wherever they take Jean and hide away to figure out last details of the plan based on location specific circumstances.   
3\. Give them around ten hours of time to do whatever the hell they wanted with him, hoping that he’d make it through that without being dissected.   
4\. Attack the base, attempt to destroy the Titans while rescuing Jean, losing as few member as possible in the fight.   
  
Of course there was awful a lot of details he had thought of and explained to us beyond this, but these were the main points that shimmered through the overall messiness of the plan. It was probably a really great plan, if you understood what he was explaining. But I had found myself too worried for Jean’s safety to really grasp the meaning behind his words at the time.

What I knew certainly was the following:   
1\. Everyone else but me in the team had actual battle experience.   
2\. There were a few Survey members hiding amongst the Titans’ troops.   
3\. I was assigned to get Jean out of the hideout with one of these infiltrated Survey members because it was deemed overall ‘easy’ job compared to others that the mission had to offer.   
4\. Maria would probably kill me in a very painful manner if I failed to protect her son, if I wasn’t fast enough to do it myself before she’d get her hands on me.     
5\. Grinning Historia with a machete was the scariest thing I had ever seen.

 Currently, said machete was being swung down in one swift motion, neatly beheading the titan who had been interrogating Jean.  
“‘Jenny’, huh”, she grinned, staring at the other stranger in the room. She looked terribly a lot like a certain freckled vampire I already knew, but shorter.   
“You look awfully a lot like Ilse Lagnar to me.”   
“At your service, m’am”, the girl behind Jean replied, immediately lowering to untie Jean’s ropes. “And sorry for being so rough with you, Jean. Couldn’t act any different than I usually do to prevent appearing suspicious.”   
“No problem”, Jean replied, sounding a little meek as he flashed us a tired smile. “Hey there, Historia, Marco. You two came here alone?”   
“Not really”, Historia replied cheerfully. “We just sneaked here while others went ahead to slay some titans. I will be joining them shortly, after I have made sure that you get a safe start in your way out. How did they treat you while we were away?”   
“They took awful a lot of my blood”, Jean replied, carefully extending his now free hands in front of him as Ilse lowered to work on the ones in his legs. “For some tests and shit, I guess. Piece of my skin, too. Next to being cut, bled, unfed, tied to this chair and forcefully kept awake I don’t have much to complain about.”  
“Yaiks”, Historia replied. “I’m glad we didn’t give them more time to work on you, then.”  
“You could have given them less”, Jean sneered tiredly, closing his eyes. “Nevermind it, thought. Can you kill vampires by beheading them?”   
“Pretty much”, Historia replied. “They don’t die immediately tho, but bleeding out does kill a vampire. So unless we reattach the head quickly, he’s a goner.”   
“Please don’t reattach it.”   
“Never planned to”, Historia retorted cheerfully, making her point clear by cutting what was left of the vampire’s neck in half. “And hey, sorry for not telling you earlier on. We feared Marco could be just crazy enough to attempt beheading himself if he knew it’d kill him.”

 I made a face at that, but Jean just nodded, still not opening his eyes. So I slowly crossed the room to stand by his side.  
“Can you stand up, Jean?”   
“Probably”, he replied softly. “I just… lack of food and sleep, you know? I’m not feeling really great right now. Everything is spinning.”   
“I have a bit of juice with me”, I replied, pulling out the flask I had been carrying. “We won’t have time to wait for you to eat, but drink this. It’ll give you some energy, and hopefully keep your blood sugar high enough for your not to faint.”   
“I love how positive you are, darling”, Jean replied dryly, finally opening his eyes and taking the flask into his shaking hands. “I’m hoping for adrenaline to keep me awake and hopefully not fucking up with my heart.”   
“Is your heart okay?”   
“No”, Jean replied before downing the juice in one go. “It doesn’t really like me being scared.”   
“Do you think that you can run?”   
“I won’t promise you anything past walking.”   
“Then I will carry if the situation calls for it. We are hoping for an easy escape with Ilse’s help, but we can’t be sure.”   
“Sure”, Jean mumbled. “Then you’ll do that.”

 Slowly, he took a hold of my hand and stumbled up, leaning onto me for a moment.  
I could feel both Ilse’s and Historia’s worried gazes flicking over to us and I definitely shared the worry.   
“Oh wow”, Jean mumbled. “Maybe the blood loss isn’t helping, either.”   
“Mr Kirstein”, Ilse said softly. “Please tell us immediately if you can’t walk so we can adjust to the situation.”   
Jean looked slowly down to his shaking knees and smiled wryly.   
“I can’t walk”, he replied, his voice sounding surprisingly cheerful seeing the situation he was in. “But I think that’s because my body finally realised it’s supposed to be scared.”   
“Jean”, I muttered, carefully closing my arms around him. “It’s okay, I’m here.”   
“I appreciate the thought but it’s really not okay”, Jean sneered, his voice climbing a little higher than the usual. “We need to get out of here, and fast.”   
“We do”, Ilse agreed, biting her lip. “Can you hold on if Mr Bott carries you piggyback? He needs his hands free for the route we are going to take, so I need to know whether I need to tie you onto his back or not.”  
“I can hold on”, Jean replied, straightening himself on my hold before gently pushing me away. “That much I can certainly do.”  
“Good”, Ilse nodded. “Rope always has the risk of getting caught at something. Now, please hurry and get onto Mr Bott’s back.”  
Jean didn’t reply, but climbed onto my back wordlessly as I turned and lowered myself down to make it easier for him.

 Once I straightened myself, Historia nodded at us quietly before tilting her head towards the door. Ilse nodded back at her and the mother of them all slipped back to the hallway we had taken to reach the room Jean had been in. As the door closed after her, Ilse turned her attention back to us.   
“We will go that way”, she said and pointed to the left end of the room. “It’s the boiler room. From there we will take the maintenance ladder two storeys down to the ground floor. From there we will have to make our way to the door or the emergency exit window. Frankly, both opinions suck and I’d rather take neither, but it’s the best shot we will have at making it out.”   
Ilse’s fingers kept twitching and I raised my brows slowly.

“Is everything okay, Miss Lagnar? You seem awfully nervous.”  
“Sorry”, she laughed, looking down at her hands with a crooked smile. “I usually write down everything - that’s my job, making sure information doesn’t get lost. But I forgot my journal to my room.”   
She buried her face into her face, making a frustrated noise before slapping her cheeks sharply.   
“Okay then”, she said. “Please follow me.”

 I hoisted Jean a little higher on my back, keeping his weight mostly on my arms for now. He’d have to cling onto me alone once we’d reach the ladder, so I wanted to give him a little time to collected his power before that. Jean grunted at me to start moving, so I did, following Ilse across the room, silently wishing that we wouldn’t have to face anyone on our way out.

Well.  
Even I knew how likely that hope was to be crushed sooner than later.

 

 

***

Present day,  
21st of December,   
Southern Trost; Trost Hospital

  
Marco didn’t say anything but let me cry it out. A while after I had started wiping away my tears, Marco’s phone buzzed.   
“Oh”, he said as he unlocked it. “It’s from Connie.”   
I perked up at that.   
“Is Sasha finished with the delivery?”   
“It seems so”, Marco nodded, eyes flying over the text on his screen. “Healthy, big baby boy, it seems.”   
“That’s amazing”, I sighed, closing my eyes. “How’s Sasha?”   
“Tired, naturally”, Marco replied. “Connie says she sent her hello’s. Says she’d love to come over to brag right now, but that she isn’t allowed to move that much.”   
“Idiot”, I snorted. “Tell them I will kick their arse if they try to visit before she is rested enough. They can come over when she gets permission. I wonder if they’d will let her here earlier if she uses the wheelchair?”   
“Probably”, Marco hummed. “But also probably not today.”   
“Marco”, I said softly. “I hate to say this but tomorrow seems a bit far away.”   
“Oh”, Marco replied, not looking up from his phone. “Well, I will tell them that you are weak. Maybe they will let her visit by the evening if the two of them pressure the nurses with the fact that you are almost dead.”   
“You know what, that’d be awesome”, I replied softly. “I really want to see that kid before I die.”   
“Planning on dying tonight?”   
“I am pretty sure that was the plan, yeah.”

 Marco lowered his phone, looking at me carefully.  
“You know”, he then said thoughtfully. “We can still push it forward a few days if you want to?”   
“No, we can’t”, I replied before another attack of coughs took me over. “I think I was supposed to die yesterday and I’m just living because I am too stubborn to die before I see that kid.”   
“You don’t look that bad to me.”   
“Marco, my heart has literally stopped three times in last thirty hours.”

 Marco sighed.  
“Yeah”, he then said, his shoulders stiffening. “I know. Sorry.”   
“Not your fault”, I noted. “But as there shouldn’t be much luck with me living any noticeable daycount longer left, I’d like to give it a try today. Either the blood saves me and I become a real vampire, or then it kills me and I at least won’t have to risk dying on Christmas. I don’t want to die on Christmas, alright? It’d be pretty shitty present to you and mum.”   
“I don’t want you to die at all”, Marco replied, shaking his head. “But you are right, I know it. I know it must be way harder to you, but it’s also hard on me Jean. We don’t know what the chances of you turning  are compared to you dying, and I don’t really like the idea of being the reason you died even a minute earlier.”   
“Blame the titans for me being in this situation at all”, I replied, waving him silent. Or at least trying to, but my hand felt like lead. I coughed again. “I’m result of their human testing, after all.”   
  
I closed my eyes. The light was burning my eyes that felt about as dry and comfortable as extra harsh flint paper.   
“I need to rest a little”, I murmured. “Will you stay here?”   
“I will”, Marco’s voice reassured. “But can you answer one question for me first?”   
“Yeah”, I said, forcing my eyes open. ”But after that, I’m taking a nap. Just a nap. I want to see that kid, as I said, so don’t look like I am about to die this exact second.”   
“Okay”, Marco said, but didn’t look more relaxed at all. “Tell me Jean - if, by some miracle, you turn and don’t die and become a vampire, will you tell the two of them?”   
“No”, I replied without a second thought.   
"You won't be telling your friends?" Marco asked, surprised. I didn’t bother pointing out that it was already a second question.  
"No", I repeated, shaking my head. "They are humans, Marco. They are humans that have gone through way too much on their lives already. They know I'm about to die, and they have had years to prepare for this day. I know that they know it’s going to happen any moment now - I am pretty sure yesterday made it clear to everyone. I don't want to tell them about vampires - they don't need it that weight on their backs. I want them to have the chance to give me their goodbyes, properly and for good. I want them to have a grave to visit - and I want them to grow up and be happy, you know? You know, Sash and Connie, they have wanted a family for so long and I want to give them that, give them the best family they could ever have. I want them to tell their children stories of me, rather than having to explain why uncle Jean never ages and can only visit with years in between. I want to protect their lives from far apart rather than exposing all... this to them."   
"That's very beautiful thought", Marco replied slowly. "But how about you? Will you be okay with that?"

 And with new tears burning at my eyes, ready to stain my cheeks, I smiled.  
"I will learn to be."

 

***

4 years before,  
14th of June,   
Trost Center; Ackerman & Co   
  
It’s funny how fast everything was over.   
  
Less than 20 hours after my imprisonment, we made it out of the building almost safely.   
Or to be more exact, Marco and me made it out. Ilse didn’t.

 The route had been simple, clever and fast. The plan had been really close to working perfectly. We had been down to the ground floor and already saw the door to our freedom when everything had gone wrong.  
The door had opened, leading several titans inside. They had stopped on their tracks, staring at us before they attacked.   
Ilse had held them back, shouting at us to run. Saying she would come after us.  
We did. She didn’t follow. Not that she really could have, when the last I saw of her was one of the titans holding her head between his hands, ready to twist.  
Erwin ran towards us on the yard and past us inside before I could tell him.   
Hanji hurried us into their car, driving us off the scene before we could be taken back.

 Hours later, Erwin arrived to the bakery with purple bruises and pale but scratchless Historia with red rimmed eyes.  
“Ymir’s burying her”, she told us, and her voice was barely a whisper. “She’s burying Ilse.”   
“Were they close?” Marco asked, soft. Careful. “They looked… alike.”   
“She was Ymir’s niece”, Historia said, biting her lip. “She raised her once her mother, Ymir’s much younger sister, died.”  
No one really knew what to say to that. Even less when the tired looking woman returned, her clothes dark with blood and what I assumed to be dirt, and she was quiet as she hugged the little blonde.  
“I found her journal”, she then said, pulling a little book out of the back pocket of her pants. “Full of useful information of the other hiding places the titans have, of the people who secretly belong to them, of their plans… everything you could imagine. Even floor plans. She did a great job.”   
“She did”, Historia said, smiling softly. “She has been a great help all this time, and will continue to be so.”   
“Yeah”, Ymir smiling, turning to glance at us. “Glad to see you made it without much of damage.”   
I weakly smiled at that, pointing at the IV I was plugged to, sitting on the little couch with Marco. “It could have been worse.”   
“Yeah”, she nodded, then turning to Erwin. “How well did we do?”   
“We killed five of their leaders”, the man replied, now nursing a fresh cup of tea on his hand. “Three weren’t there. We lost Ilse, another undercover member and Moblit is in critical condition. Hanji’s in the hospital with him.”   
“Any more important files recovered? Destroyed anything good?”   
“The building is ours now. A lot of promising material has been found but it’s too early to be sure. We have several titans held captive, waiting for questioning.”   
“The council will help with that.”   
“Good”, Erwin replied. “Now all we need to do is go through the information we have and ambush the rest of their hideouts. Lower level members should be given a chance to reconsider their actions if possible. It’s going to be a long war.”   
“I hear you”, Ymir sighed, pulling her wife with her to sit down to the table. “We have something to tell you. I know Mx Da- sorry, Mx Zoe isn’t here, but we can inform them later on. But I’d like you to call Mr Ackerman, Mrs Kirstein and anyone else that you can here.”

“Oh”, Marco muttered, blinking softly as Erwin disappeared from the room to look for the others. “I just remembered.”  
“What did you remember?”   
“I promised to call Louise if I made it out alive.”   
“Can’t you do it tomorrow?”   
“I can”, he replied softly. “I actually can. We made it out alive.”   
“We did”, I hummed, leaning to his shoulder. “It’s over for now.”   
“Let's go look at Northern Lights”, Marco said, glancing to me. “Once it's winter. Let's catch as many Northern Lights as possible. I will follow the forecasts like a shark. We won’t miss any of them.”   
“Let’s”, I agreed. “But we can miss some. It’s not like we don’t have time left to see them next winter, too.”   
“Next winter”, Marco said softly. “Yeah.”   
There was a short silence as I glanced up to my boyfriend.

“I will stay human”, I then said. “I think you already knew.”  
“I hoped you would. Because of the blood.”   
“But Marco”, I said, keeping his eyes locked on mine with my words. “When my time runs low, I want to try being turned.”   
“Like... just before you would die?”   
“Yeah”, I replied. “When it’s clear that I don’t have time to live as a human left. I want to try if I can be turned then. Right now, I have still so much to see that I don’t want to risk losing the years I have left. But once they are gone, I want to try. If it fails, I will die like I would have died no matter what. If it works, I get to live with you. That way, I won’t die earlier than I should even if I fail to turn.”   
“How long to it again? To what they guess.”   
“Four years.”   
“You will be older than I ever was.”   
“I will still always say that you are older than I am.”   
“I’m fine with that”, Marco chuckled. “I get the older mind, you get the older body… what a weird couple we will be.”   
I laughed softly with him when Erwin returned with my mother and Levi, both looking sleep deprived with the black bruised bags under their eyes and my  mother’s messy hair. She smiled at me and we exchanged a nod before they sat down to the table with Erwin, all giving the two women curious looks.

 It took a while, but then Historia started.  
“This might be hard to believe”, she said slowly. “But I have aged.”   
The room went very, very silent, as if all the electronical devices would have stopped to listen, too.   
“I mean it”, the blonde continued. “My body has been getting older. Very, very slowly, but I can tell that it has.”   
“She has gotten lines to the corners of her eyes”, Ymir said, looking down to her lap. “And last week, I found a grey hair on her.”   
“I don’t know what it means”, Historia said. “I was young, very young when the other members of my family decided that the world we lived in wasn’t worth living in and killed themselves. I don’t know of any pureblood vampires other than myself… I don’t know what it means that I’m getting older. But I’m guessing that my life does have an natural end to it. Somewhere, someday.”   
“It’s getting faster, too”, Ymir continued. “I noticed the start of the first lines over hundred years ago. Now, there are three and a grey hair. The two new lines came faster than the first, and we assume they will keep appearing faster from now on.”   
“What I am the most worried about is what will happen to everyone who shares my blood”, Historia then said. “I feel a connection to all of my children. If I as their mother die, will my blood inside of these people cause them to die? I hope not. But I have to warn you - I don’t think that any of you will be living forever.”   
“It’s gonna be a very long life”, Ymir said. “So worry not. But even I have started to age, and I am decades younger than she is. So it will affect everyone. Slowly, but surely it will.”  
“But”, Marco said softly, surprising me and others. “Isn’t that good? I don’t think any of us really wanted to live forever. We just had to accept it us our reality.”

 Erwin nodded, and Historia blinked slowly.  
“Oh”, she then said. “That’s good. But I think we need to tell Mx Hanji as soon as possible if they still want to try making the medicine.”   
“We should”, Erwin agreed. “They’ll probably want to meet you once we know more about Moblit’s state - we have the permission to turn him if it’s deemed necessary, but only if it’s the only way to save his life. So now, we must wait and see what happens.”   
“It’s okay”, Historia said. “I have time. Another thing.”   
“Yes?”   
“Once the war with titans is over, I’m retiring”, she smiled. “I’m tired. I’m very, very tired. I don’t get rest like I used to, and I can’t seem to stop being tired. So once this is finally over, I want to go somewhere safe with Ymir. Travel the world a little, visit a few friends. Settle down somewhere far, far away from here. Then, I want to enjoy what’s left of my life in peace and finally, finally rest. I build the system we have with my bare hands and mostly alone - I think it’s time for someone else to step up and takes the reins themself. The details aren’t necessary to sort out just yet. I just want you to know about it so that you can prepare yourselves.”   
Ymir closed her arms softly around her wife who leaned into the touch, and I studied her silently.  Somehow, I had never realised how tired the vampire in front me seemed, but now that she told it I could clearly see it: it was there in the darkness under her eyes, in the way her skin seemed to have gone paler and a little wax like, in the way her hair didn’t shine. But most, it was in the cloudiness of her smile.   
  
And somehow, I recognised the tiredness of that smile from the one that I could see in my mirror.

 

 

***

Present day,  
21st of December,   
Southern Trost; Trost Hospital

 “How’s the patient?”  
I opened my eyes and smiled at the voice.   
“Sasha”, I muttered, slowly turning towards the door to see my friend in the wheelchair with something small in her arms wrapped in what seemed like blankets. Connie was pushing her along, waving his hand to me with a smirk.   
“And Connie”, I added, eyes falling to the little wrap in Sasha’s arms. “And a wrap of blankets.”   
“I worried for nothing”, Sasha sighed dramatically, but she couldn’t hide the smile from her voice. “If you are well enough to joke I could have slept more.”   
“I’ll joke on my deathbed”, I replied. “As you can already see.”   
Sasha’s lips wavered a little.  
“No, don’t you dare to look sad”, I said sternly, glancing to Marco. “Marco, help me up a little - thank you. Sasha, this is your happy day. Smile, idjit, and tell me the name of the little human worm.”  
“Jean Kirstein”, she laughed softly, Connie joining her with chuckles. “You just didn’t call my first child a worm.”   
“I did, and I will keep on doing so unless you tell me his name.”   
“Husband”, Sasha said, glancing up to Connie. “Lift the baby for him to see.”  
Connie smiled, walked around the chair and picked the little thing carefully up from Sasha’s arms.

 Then, he softly walked up to me, sat down to the side of bed and lowered the baby into my arms, telling me in soft murmurs how to hold him properly. Then he pulled up his phone and snapped a picture of me holding the baby.  
“He’s asleep now, as you can see”, he smiled after pocketing his phone, looking proudly at his son as Marco pushed Sasha next to bed where she looked at us, smiling, too. “Doesn’t he look like me?”   
“He has Sasha’s nose”, I said, looking at the little, wrinkly sleeping face. “At least I think so.”   
“I said so, too”, Sasha chuckled. “But overall, I think he will take after Connie if you look at his eyes and all. Oh, but they aren’t open so it’s harder to tell.”   
“Hmm”, I hummed thoughtfully. “He certainly is bald like his father.”   
“Hey”, Connie mumbled, swatting my arm gently. Very, very gently, barely touching me in the end.   
“He has Connie’s ears”, Marco said softly, gazing at the baby. “I will go to eat something at this point so you three can be alone for a while. Don’t hesitate to call the nurse if something is wrong.”   
Sasha seemed a little hesitant, but smiled at Marco and nodded. I could tell that she was thankful, and I was too, to be honest. Marco knew what the moment meant for me, even though the two didn’t yet.   
  
Once the door to my room was softly closed, Sasha’s gaze trailed back to me.   
“His name is Martin”, she said. “After Connie’s brother.”   
“And his name is Jean”, Connie continued. “After the best friend either of us has ever had.”   
“Martin Jean Springer”, Sasha added, smiling a little. “He’s Martin Jean Springer.”   
“Hello”, I whispered, looking at the little, fragile life sleeping in my hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Martin Jean Springer. I’m uncle Jean.”   
There were tears in Connie’s eyes that mirrored mine, and I knew what was coming.   
“We”, he said, stopping to take a shivering breath. “We wanted you to be his godfather, Jean.”   
“Thank you”, I replied, reaching my pinky to touch his hand that was still close by, ready to help if I couldn’t  keep a hold of the baby. “I’d love nothing more.”   
Connie smiled, a little wry smile on his lips.   
“I’m sorry I can’t visit him for birthdays”, I continued, and Sasha reached her arm to touch mine. She shook her head, smiling.   
“Don’t worry about it, Jean”, she said. “We will make sure you are present in our minds.”   
“Always present”, Connie confirmed. “After all, we named him in the hope he’d grow to be as strong as you are.”   
“You make me sound so unprepared”, I chuckled. “Connie, can you take him back? He’s getting heavy.”   
Connie did, and I smiled thankfully as he did so.   
“I don’t think I can send cards from afterlife”, I said, making Sasha rose her eyebrows. “But the second I heard that Sasha is pregnant I prepared some things.”   
“What have you done, Jean?”   
“I painted”, I replied. “My mother has three paintings set aside for the child with three letters. One is for his birth, one is for his tenth birthday and one is for his eighteenth. I tried to paint one to be his wedding present, but I ran out of time.”   
“Oh Jean”, Sasha murmured. “You are an idiot, you know that? It’s more than enough, it’s way more than enough.”   
“I don’t know if it will be useful”, I continued. “But I have a little savings. I talked to my mum, and she will make sure the money ends to Martin. Please use it to buy him something he really wants.”   
“Jean”, Connie whispered. “Thank you.”   
“Don’t thank me”, I smiled. “I just want to be part of his life even if I can’t be there to support him. I just want to ask for two things.”   
“Anything”, Sasha said, clasping her hand tighter around mine. “Anything you want.”   
“First”, I said, looking carefully between the two. “I want you to take him to play with my mum. She loves kids. Don’t ever hesitate to ask for her help with him - I know she will help. She will be very, very glad to help with anything.”   
“Of course”, Sasha nodded. “She will make an amazing almost grandmother for him. We wanted to ask her to help anyway. Thought it might… help her, you know.”   
“I’m glad. Secondly - if Martin ever asks about me”, I started, stopping cough. “Please tell him that uncle Jean was a person who was so glad he got to live. That he was so happy to be alive, and he was really happy he got to see him. Tell them I was happy to live, but that I was sad to go, but that I was content with how I had lived. Tell him about my life, but don’t make it a tragedy. Make it a story as it has been - a story full of love and warmth, a good life that just happened to be a little shorter. I want him to smile when hears about me, not cry.”   
“Okay”, Sasha said. “Okay.”   
Then, she finally cried, and I carefully hold onto her hand.

 “Connie, Sasha”, I said, and it broke my heart a little to know what was coming, to know what they’d have to hear by the dawn. To know I’d be the one to break their little bubble of happiness.  
“I’ll have to ask you to leave soon. I’m getting tired. Very, very tired. But thank you for bringing him to meet me.”   
“We will leave shortly”, Sasha nodded, wiping her tears. “I just want to ask… how are you?”   
“Not very well”, I replied, squeezing her hand. “I don’t think there will be tomorrow if I’m completely honest with you two.”   
“So it’s a goodbye”, Sasha said, and I could tell she fought back the tears that wanted to spill. “I understand.”   
“I think it is”, I replied, gazing to Connie. “I am glad I’m good enough to talk today. It would have sucked today had been like yesterday… I guess this is what they always talk about. How patients suddenly seem better for a little while before they have to go.”   
“Are you scared?” Connie asked softly, so softly it was almost weird from his mouth.   
“Yes”, I admitted. “A little. But I feel better about going now that I have seen him and you two.”   
“We will keep him safe”, Sasha smiled. “And we will tell him a lot of stories.”   
“Tell him about the boy who painted green clouds”, I smirked. “On golden horizon. Tell him that that boy is watching over him from the clouds, protecting him, too.”   
“We will.”   
“And now”, I said. “You know how I feel about goodbyes.”   
“We do.”   
“So”, I smiled. “I love you guys. See you later.”   
“See you later”, the two said, Connie settling the still sleeping baby into Sasha’s arm and settling behind her wheelchair. “We love you, too. Martin does, too, even if he doesn’t know it yet.”   
  
Gently, they left the room, and I made sure to smile when they last glanced inside.   
They made sure to smile, too. Last gaze, last smile. Last wave of hand.   
Last not-a-goodbye.

Not a minute later, Marco walked back inside, looking at me with worried eyes.   
“Now”, I said. “Now, Marco.”   
He nodded, and I realised that his eyes were rimmed with red and he leaned in to kiss me.

Soft,  
 softer,   
   the softest,   
                  and for the very first time I didn’t mind being handled like I was fragile,   
                  to be stored in cotton and only touched with care.  
I wanted him to carry me to those clouds once more, like in my dreams.  
  
Then, Marco looked into my eyes and smiled.   
“I love you.”   
Soft laught,   
wrinkling eyes.

 And he cut our palms open, holding my bleeding hand in his  
                                                                                                   until everything   
                                                                                                                          was dark.

***

Three weeks later,  
11th of January,   
Trost's cemetery chapel

I never found it that hilarious that Jean had requested blue and white flowers for his funeral.  
I really, really didn’t.   
  
So I didn’t feel too great as I stood with the heart shaped arrangement of  the bluest dyed roses I had ever seen by the white casket, feeling the eyes of everyone else in the room heavy on me as I carefully straightened the white band tied to it.   
“Thank you for these years. You’ll always be remembered”, I read, my voice soft but steady. “With love, Marco.”   
I softly placed the flowers by the casket and looked its closed top, letting my eyes linger on it before walking back to my bench, Jean’s mum softly walking past me with her own flowers. White, but also a heart.   
“To my son - thank you for being the light of my life during the darkest of times”, she read, and her voice wavered, but she didn’t cry as she placed them down.   
“With love, mother”, she said quieter, lowering her gaze as the first tear rolled down her cheek. She took her while before walking back, sitting down by me. I silently offered her a tissue which took with thanks, drying her cheeks.   
Mark was the next one to go, but I couldn’t pay attention to what he said, carefully keeping check on the woman on my side. She had cut her hair a few weeks before Christmas, and it was short and blonde like it had been when she was young. Jean had really liked it, telling her it suited her, made her look younger. Yet, now she seemed to have aged more in the past weeks than all the years I had known her together.   
  
Sasha and Connie were there, too, with the little Martin. Sasha was strong, she always was, and she gently took over the reading once her husband’s voice broke down in the middle, saying their goodbyes and thank yous before settling down their own flowers. It wasn’t until they were halfway back to their seats that Sasha lost it too, silent sobs shaking her body as the tears rolled down her face. There wasn’t much I could do from my seat, so I was glad to see that Armin said something to her something in a soft murmurs, getting a nod and smile out of her before approaching the casket himself slowly with Annie, who had trouble getting off the bench row with her canes that she still needed, that she would need for the rest of her life since the titans had crushed her legs beyond completely recovery. The two handed out a big arrangement of flowers, from them and the rest of Jean’s friends that couldn’t make it to scene themselves, reading several lines of messages from several people before settling the flowers down.  
This went on a few more times, until all the arrangements were gone and settled down. Some from Jean’s more distant relatives I hadn’t met, one from his school, one from a nurse from the hospital. The biggest one out of all was the one his grand mére had ordered through Mark, unable to be present by herself. The years had gotten to the old, loving lady and she wasn’t in the shape to travel by plane anymore. But she had spoken on the phone with Maria for a long time the evening before, giving her strength to survive the day.

 Even when the priest wrapped up the funeral (which I found a little odd since neither Jean nor his mother belonged to the church, but Maria had explained me that the church handled even the non religious funerals and had handled the funeral of Jean’s father, too) I kept my eyes on the woman by my side, just keeping a check. Making sure she was handling it alright, that I could be there for her any moment if she needed me.  
She was, in the end, here to bury the last blood relative she had had on this earth. She was here to bury her child.   
She was strong, so incredibly strong, I couldn’t help thinking it even after all these years. She had always fought for her little family, lost it and her ability to produce more children, lost her husband and now her son. But here she was, holding her chin up high, keeping it together. She was a woman who asked for little to nothing even after helping to bring down the titans, still working hard for the sake of vampires to ensure the continuation of the fragile peace that had settled down. She kept donating her blood, kept working to help vampires to change their identities when it was needed (it was a job Survey has given her, and she had been thankful for it) and she kept holding others together when everything seemed to crumble down.   
“You are leaving soon, aren’t you Marco?” she asked softly, turning to me. “Leaving Trost.”   
“I am”, I replied softly. “Once everything is settled, I will be leaving. Too many memories here for me to stay.”   
“I’m sorry they kept bombarding you today”, she said softly, and I knew that she truly was sorry. “I know how hard it is to hear others telling how terrible it’s to lose your lover and their awkward promises of things turning to better. That you are still young, you can find new happiness. It hurts like hell.”   
“It does”, I admitted, slowly standing up with the rest of the hall, knowing it was the time to move towards the goodbye coffee in the building across the street. “I will ask them to leave us alone here for a minute.”   
There would be no lowering the casket to the frozen, snow covered ground because Jean had wanted to be cremated, so cremated he would be. The urn would be lowered the ground a week later, with only few of his closest peers present. So it wasn’t hard to get the priest to give a sad, understanding nod and leaving the room with others, promising to wait for us on the other side of the hall’s doors.

I stood in front of the white casket with Maria in silence, both of us lost on own thoughts. Her hands gently caressed some of the flowers, and she smiled as she caught my eyes.  
“I was always proud of him”, she then said. “He was my son, and he was a very good son. Never did my pride or love for him ever falter - not when he got in fights, not when he was hospitalised. Not even when he bought you over and tried to hide your identity -  I knew from the very moment that he asked me to get Levi to help you when you fainted what you were. I was, in the end, the wife of the late inventor of the very same pill that he gave you, and I couldn’t help but cry when I understood what was happening. I was a little angry at the start, unwilling to accept you - unwilling to accept that a _vampire_ would try take more of my family away from me. But then I saw how he loved you and trusted you, and I couldn’t help but warm up to you. You helped my son feel alive when he had already given up hope. You made him _alive_ again, and I had never been so glad in my life than when he told me he felt like he had lived a good life. So I am thankful.”   
“I’m proud of him, too”, I smiled. “You raised him well, Maria.”   
“I guess I did”, she smiled, and I lowered my hand to her thin shoulder.   
“Now”, I said, giving the shoulder under my hand a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go tell the world _just_ how wonderful your son was.”   
Maria laughed, voice soft and gentle in the way that only a mother’s could be, and she said, _yes, let’s_ .   
  
And as we walked across the room and past the gloomy dark doors of the hall, I looked back to the white casket for the very last time.   
“Goodbye, Jean Kirstein”, I whispered. “Goodbye.”

 

***

Two more months later,  
11th of March,   
Trost cemetery.

   
It was snowing, and there were green lights dancing across the expanse of the star dotted sky.

_Flowers have meanings, you had said,  
meanings, meanings, meanings,   
meaning after meaning, endlessly so.   
None of that never mattered to me   
until you gave me deep red roses   
and I kissed you hard,   
new ring of silver wrapped round my finger. _   
  
And there I was,   
in the dark of the night.   
Silver on my neck and ring,   
memories of you   
pale in the moonlight.

_The horizon was golden  
and you were painting green clouds.  
You said it reminded you of how we started,  
tiny smile perched on your pale, thin lips._

And there I was,  
alone and cold   
                cold   
   so very cold.   
  
_Pine trees and pastel clouds,_  
_candy kisses in moonlight._   
_Blushing cheeks and fluttering eyelashes._   
_You said you missed the Northern Lights,_  
_so why weren’t you watching them with me now?_   
  
And there I was,   
on my knees by your grave   
  
_Smile on the lips that tasted like cinnamon,_   
_white roses hugged to your chest._   
_Thank you, thank you, whispered into trembling hands._   
  
And there I was,   
breath misted by the cold.   
  
_Carnations on cold winter mornings,_  
_crack of the wood in the fireplace._  
_And I loved you, I really loved you._   
  
And there I was,   
setting fire to the blue suits of doom,   
illuminating the names gilded into snow covered stone.   
  
_Apple tree branches pressing to my skin,_  
_laughter lost in the summer rain._  
_Endless tears smudging the paint still fresh_  
_the day you couldn’t hold your brush anymore._  
_Whispers lost in hospital sheets._  
  
And there you were,   
hand on my shoulder.

_“Cross my heart and hope to die,_   
_I'll never see you with your laughter lines.”_

And you smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t fucking believe it’s over what the hell.
> 
> I want to apologize for taking so long to post the last chapter, and for making it one last chapter instead of three chapters I originally planned. How the hell was this supposed to be three chapters…. I have no idea. I have had plenty of time to forget, sorry. 
> 
> But I also want to thank you from the bottom of my heart for all the love you guys have given this fic. This fic has been one hell of a learning process for me and I can’t thank you enough for (unknowingly or not) pushing me to keep on writing this. This fic taught me that people can like what I write and that I have it in me to write a long story. Could I have done it better? O h m y g o d YES I could have done so much better. I look back now and think “what the hell was I thinking? why did i do this part that way? was i even thinking at all?” but hey, first times are never perfect. In this case for me the journey was what was more important than the result - the fact that people like this is just amazing, amazing added bonus. I couldn’t have done it without you guys so thank you <3 
> 
> I have to admit that I don’t know if I will ever write jeamarco again since I had rather bad falling out of love experience with it (not gonna point fingers but the reason was part of the fandom, and that makes it hard to come back). I just don’t know. Maybe? Depends on how I will feel, but at the moment I have no fic writing planned. It’s time that I give my original story the attention that I am finally brave enough to give it.  
> Anyway. Thank you, once more, for reading. Especially big thank you to those of you who have followed me from the start… you are amazing. It’s been what, sixteen months since the first chapter and two years since I came up with the idea? This fic helped me greatly to start working through things in my life that really really needed to be worked through. I started this fic when I was very, very sick and in a bad place in my life. Now I am still very sick but getting better and in a little bit better place in my life. Which is cool. Really cool. It’s been one hell of two years. 
> 
> Thank you for giving this fic a change. Thank you for letting it make you feel something. Thank you for… everything. Your support has meant everything to me, and I don’t lie when I say that sometimes this fic was the only thing that kept me going. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, seriously. 
> 
> KIITOS for everything <3
> 
> Extra shout out to all my amazing betas: thank you so much Miriam, Lu, Brooke & Leo for proofreading for me and calling me out on sloppy writing when needed. I own you so much for doing this.
> 
> Thank you Leo for the Swedish translations, and Magali for the French. Without your help th8s woukd have been a way duller story! 
> 
> And thank you to YOU,  
> Marras xx


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